


The Emperor's New Clothes and Other Tales of the Fifth Grail War

by andipossess



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night (Visual Novel)
Genre: Comedy, Nero is Nero, POV Alternating, POV Third Person Limited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23302126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andipossess/pseuds/andipossess
Summary: Instead of familiar blue, Shirou's accidental summons draws a red-suited Saber from the deck. She's bold and boisterous and her choice of fashion leaves something to be desired. A series of vignettes about Shirou, Saber, and the events of their Holy Grail War.Originally posted on FF.net
Kudos: 8





	1. The Emperor's New Clothes

#  The Emperor's New Clothes and Other Tales of the Fifth Grail War

Servants were magnificent beings, weren't they? How could they not be? They were the very souls of great heroes of old given flesh and breath once more, and with that came the prestige of their legends, their pedigrees crystallized physically in the form of their Noble Phantasms.

They were humans who had risen above humanity, literally transcending their earthly shells to become one with the spirit of the Earth. No longer merely human but something more. Something greater.

Shirou's cheek twitched. "Saber," he breathed slowly. "We need to do something about your clothes."

The short, blonde Servant of the sword tilted her head sideways as she looked at him. It was adorable. "Oh? Do you spy a problem with them, Praetor?"

"Well..." How to put this delicately? "I can see your underwear."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Indeed! Such was the design's purpose."

Shirou rubbed his forehead. This is why you should never meet your heroes. "Are you sayi—no. Never mind, I don't want to know. What I'm saying, Saber, is that most women in this day and age don't walk around with their panties in plain sight. Among other things, it would be incredibly suspicious if you were to walk around in public like that." Although, admittedly, she'd more likely be mistaken for a shameless cosplayer than a magically conducted embodiment of a hero.

"Loathe as I am to admit it," Saber grunted, "your words ring with truth, Praetor. It is anathema, but such is the nature of the predicament. These garments, wondrous as they are, would draw far too many eyes to my splendor." She flapped the skirt of her dress emphatically. The undulation increased her cleavage's magnetism by three orders of magnitude and nearly tore Shirou's eyes from their sockets, proving her words. "However, fear not, Praetor! For scenes such as this, I have prepared a change of costume!"

"Wait, really?" He hadn't considered that Servants might have more than one outfit. Then again, they were magical, and his knowledge of the Servant-system mechanics was fuzzy at best.

Shirou watched her chest bounce as she puffed up with pride—well, more pride than usual. "Indeed! And worry not, Praetor. I assure you that these vestments will keep my undergarments adequately concealed. The world may lament that I must hide my glory under a bushel, but your safety is paramount." She nodded to herself. "Yes, it must be a necessary sacrifice."

"Ah, yeah," Shirou agreed, not that he understood her rambling. "Anyway, sorry to trouble you like this, but the sooner you can change, the better." It was getting close to dinner time, and Sakura or Taiga—or _both!_ —were bound to show up any time now.

"Of course, Praetor. It will be but a moment. No, not even that." She smiled slyly at him. "And I would not refuse an audience." Saber laughed heartily when Shirou flushed and abruptedly about-faced. "Your naiveté is endearing, Praetor. It's difficult not to make sport of you."

"J–just change already, Saber," Shirou grumbled, not turning his head.

"You'll find, Praetor, that I already have. You may avail of my visage once more."

"That was quick." Well, whatever she was wearing, there was no way it could be worse than—"What. Is. _That."_

 _That_ was, in some ways, better than the first outfit, but, in nearly every other way, was far worse. _That_ was something that looked like the mutant love-child of a wedding dress and a gimp suit with a zipper fetish—complete with a mockery of a veil. On the other hand, _that_ showed far less skin. Somehow, that was not a reassuring thought.

"It seems you are taken aback once more by my pulchritude, Praetor," Saber said, turning slowly in place to show off _that._

"Saber. I can see your—," he choked, "—your rear." Indeed he could. The designer of the dress had seen fit to remove a panel in the shape of a diamond on the lower back. So low, in fact, that a good 50% of her bottom was visible, crack and all.

"Yes, isn't it magnificent?" She wiggled her exposed backside in his direction. "Truly a sight to see, is it not?"

This had to be a dream. An incredibly odd wet dream. A product of his chemically-overloaded adolescent imagination. And if it wasn't? Well, Shirou refused to be part of that reality. In fact, maybe he could substitute his own reality instead. Wouldn't that be grand? "Are you even wearing anything underneath _that?"_ he regretted asking immediately.

She grinned over her shoulder. "Indeed!"

Shirou's eyes snapped to her rear, then back to her face, then back down again, to confirm that, indeed, there was no such thing covering the area. "I don't see anything." Well, other than her impressively taut posterior. No! Don't think about it!

"Naturally!" Saber responded. "As I promised, my undergarments have been concealed!" She posed, arms akimbo, giving him a full view of the outfit. After a moment, she pouted and tilted her head. "Praetor, you will damage the doorframe if you insist on butting it with your head."

At her question, Shirou paused to rub the new sore spot on his forehead. "No, I think it'll be fine," he said, then went back to banging his head on the wooden frame.

Rapid footsteps were their only warning before the door—a different one—opened.

"Shirou! Food! I'm hungry!" Fuji-nee paused, her enthusiasm put on mute the instant she saw Shirou's continued self-injury. "Um," she hesitated, turning toward the other occupant of the room. "Is something wrong with Shi—WHAT IS **_THAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!"_**

##  The Emperor's New Clothes

"I see." Fuji-nee nodded in understanding, fist to her chin. "So, what you're saying is that Miss, um—"

"Saber," Shirou said as he finished applying a bandage to his forehead.

"—right, Miss Saber lost her luggage at the airport, and all she could salvage was two outfits: the one she's wearing right now and another in the wash." She looked at Shirou sternly. "Have I got that right?"

Shirou scratched his neck. "Ah, yeah, all she managed to salvage was her carry-on bag, which had her toiletries and, uh, _that."_ He squirmed in his seat under Fuji-nee's stare, which had about doubled in intensity over the last few seconds. "So, that's why—"

"Do you really expect me to believe that story?!" Fuji-nee exploded, foiling Shirou's attempt to clear the air. "I'm not stupid, Shirou! That's definitely the type of plot you'd expect to see in a sitcom or a bad romantic comedy, not the sort of thing that happens in real life!"

"No, wait, hold on! I'm telling you, that's what hap—!"

"Praetor," Saber interrupted. Shirou froze at her grave intonation. It was so unlike her it unnerved him. Fuji-nee looked at her warily. "She's caught us out. Now is honesty's turn."

"Wait, Saber, are you—We can't tell her about—!"

"Praetor," she said more sternly. Shirou's mouth instinctively snapped shut. "I offer my apologies, Lady Taiga," she began. "It was my coercion which drove Pr–Master Shirou to endeavor in deceit against you. Yet now the scales have fallen from my eyes, thus here I impart upon you the truth in all its plainness!"

Fuji-nee gave her an unsure look. "Oh?"

"Indeed," Saber nodded, eyes closed, hand to her heart. "For you see...." She paused, not saying anything for many long moments, a serene look upon her face.

Shirou's shoulders tensed, waiting for Saber to drop the masquerade.

"Pr–Master Shirou is a gracious man, Milady Taiga, who in infinite tenderness took to shelter me, the poor, woeful—yet impossibly beautiful—young woman from the predators of the darkness."

Wait, what?

"Indeed, so pitiable I was to be stumbling about with but my own self under the moonlight, abandoned so by my betrothed at the very altar of our nuptial vows and left in the open to wander about like a vagrant with naught but the clothes I wear now, a symbol of a matrimony yet to be and now forever withheld." She extended her arm to the heavens—or at least the ceiling light shining above her. White and gold confetti floated around her, falling from her outstretched hand.

Shirou slammed a palm into his face. There was no way that anyone would—

"That is such a sad story!" Fuji-nee burbled through sudden tears.

—right, this was Fuji-nee, wasn't it.

"Indeed!" Saber agreed. "And it grows more woeful still! My dastard of a husband-to-be and an ever engorging mob of his making made pursuit against my maidenly self, and so I flew into the thicket to find concealment, _but—!"_ She paused for effect. "—escape was not so freely taken. His men consorted with all manner of beasts, but it was the bloodhounds which made me."

"Oh, no!" Fuji-nee exclaimed.

"In the tumult," Saber continued, "my brides-veil sailed adrift in the nightly zephyr and my skirts tore in the snarls of woodland's gnarled hands. My bridal bouquet was chewed upon by the rats and the rodents. Indeed," she grunted, sweeping a hand downward over her front, "here your eyes rest on the scraps of the affair." She cast her eyes downward, a mournful frown on her lips.

"No!"

She nodded, a look of anguish on her face. "Yes, were it not for this most clement of men," she smiled at Shirou, who, despite himself, suddenly found himself blushing, "the fate of my personage would—pardon me. 'Tis a circumstance too terrible to envision." She took a deep deliberate breath. "Master Shirou has returned to me my life, and a pittance is all I have to repay him. I shall carry his debt so long as I draw breath. Yet, here I am, reposed by his hearth, as a leech upon his arm, and yet still he proffers to garb me by his own bullion! It was this occasion that you happened upon us, milady." She looked at Fuji-nee expectantly. "And that is the tale's end! _Finis!"_ She bowed several times as her audience of one clapped boisterously. Shirou merely stared with growing incredulity.

Fuji-nee wiped a tear from her eye. "Shirou's such a good boy, isn't he? Isn't he? Oh, who knew he'd grow up to be such a good Samaritan to help out a poor girl in need and offer to buy her new clothes? Doesn't he know how expensive that would be? What a foolish, foolish, good boy he is, isn't he?"

"H–hey, Fuji-nee, isn't that a little...?"

"Never mind that, Shirou. This poor girl needs clothes—badly!" Saber opened her mouth to object, but Fuji-nee continued anyway. "But—! I can't let you spend your money all willy-nilly like that, Shirou! I'm sure I can find something of mine for her to wear."

Shirou doubted that. Fuji-nee was tall and thin. Saber was short and... endowed. You couldn't find a bigger mismatch if you tried.

Saber, though, seemed unperturbed. "Indeed! Who can say what beauteous delicacies we shall unearth!" She pointed her finger toward the kitchen. "Lead on, Lady Taiga! **_Exeunt!"_**

"Bye, Shirou! See you later! Make sure dinner's ready when we get back!"

In their absence, Shirou stared for a long time at a slight indentation on the doorframe. Then he rubbed the aching spot on his forehead in frustration.

* * *

Shirou wiped the sweat from his brow. The broth was turning out nicely, and its fine aroma rose with the heat creating a tiny pocket of heaven in the kitchen. The taste wasn't half-bad either.

It was just too bad that there was no one around to eat the food. He turned the heat down on the broth, enough to keep it warm without burning it and sat back down at the kotatsu. It had been nearly an hour since the two had left, which gave him time to cook up a substantial amount of food, enough to feed three at least, but apparently it wasn't enough for the two to solve Saber's wardrobe problem.

Not that he should've expected otherwise. There was something about women and clothes that he still didn't quite get. Even Fuji-nee, the least fashion-conscious person ever, could spend hours trying on clothes, eclectic as her choices were.

A chill ran down his spine. Suddenly, he wasn't sure if letting Fuji-nee pick out Saber's clothes was a great idea. No, best not to think of that. He focused on the warmth of the kotatsu instead to distract him.

The door slid open and, after the shuffling of feet, slid back closed. "Hmm, Senpai? What are you doing down there?"

Shirou cracked open his eyes from the floor. It was Sakura, as expected, looking down at him curiously. He didn't quite remember ever lying down, but he sat up anyway, rubbing at a sudden itch in his right eye. "Huh? Oh, just waiting for Fuji-nee to get back."

"I see you've already finished cooking," she remarked with a tinge of something like disappointment in her voice. She glanced around the kitchen, looking like she might say more, but she didn't.

Shirou scratched his neck. "Ah, yeah. Fuji-nee and—well, Fuji-nee had something to do, and I wanted to be sure dinner was ready by the time she came back. Though...." He looked at the door thoughtfully. "She's taking longer that I thought she would. If you don't mind waiting, Sakura, you can join us for dinner if you'd like. Although I can't tell you exactly when that will be."

"I don't mind waiting, Senpai." Sakura smiled at him as she sat down to his right. "So... where did Fujimura-sensei go?"

Shirou grimaced. How to explain? "Well, the thing about that is that—"

The door slammed open with a bang. "WE'RE BACK!" Fuji-nee stood proudly in the door frame, dressed the same as ever, but Saber was nowhere in sight.

Sakura looked at Shirou. "'We'?"

Fuji-nee's eyes brightened. "Oh! Sakura-chan, perfect timing! We're just about to show off Saber-chan's new clothes!"

_"'Saber-chan'?"_

"Saber-chan, you ready?" Fuji-nee's voice was filled past the brim with giddiness.

From out of sight, Saber's voice replied, "Indeed I am!"

Fuji-nee mimed holding a mic to her lips. "Ladies and gentlemen! Presenting the _Saber-chan's Magnificent Lovely Yes! Yes! Ba-dump! Fashion Show_ , I am your host, Fujimura!" She paused as though waiting for applause. There was none. "And tonight, we have the beautiful Miss Saber-chan showing off a wonderful fashion item that was supposed to be a gift for Sakura-chan who refused but by then it was too late to return it!"

Sakura suddenly turned very pale.

"Come on out and strut your stuff, Saber-chan!" Fuji-nee slid to the side, gesturing with her arms.

In response, Saber strode into the room, doing a twirl so the audience could see everything.

"Senpai! Don't look!" Sakura lunged at Shirou, attempting to cover his eyes with her hands. But she was far too slow.

Shirou couldn't quite see _everything,_ but it was a damn sight closer to everything than what he expected or what was decent. Hell, "decent" was out the window, the outfit was on the wrong side of risque and veering dangerously close to pornographic, which, sadly, was nothing new today.

Saber was wearing a lavender sweater. _Sort of._ That is, it was only _sort of_ a sweater, and it was only _sort of_ being worn. It was sleeveless, with a turtleneck collar and exposed shoulders, and at first glance, from the front, it seemed modest enough. That modesty was then stabbed in the heart by a barbed red spear of death. The sweater left the soft pale skin of her back utterly exposed, and the flesh of her breasts threatened (convincingly) to spill out the sides. The back dipped down low, lower even than with the mutant wedding dress, low enough that he could see the t-back of her underwear, which failed miserably on its quest to make it halfway up her bottom and instead nestled itself at the convergence of flesh and flesh.

"So, what do you think, Shirou?" Fuji-nee grinned. Or sounded like she did. Shirou was having trouble seeing through Sakura's hands. "I call it the 'Special One-of-a-Kind-Kind-of Virgin-Killing Sweater Mini-Dress'. Bet you're regretting turning down this gift now, aren't you, Sakura-chan? You can just imagine Sakura wearing this, Shirou, can't you?"

Sakura's voice turned stern. "Senpai, I'd ask you please keep the image out of your head."

Too late. It was scary how easy an image it was to picture. The color and cut would suit Sakura far better than it did Saber, and, attractive as it was on the blonde Servant, Sakura had a certain charm that would—

At that thought, Shirou abruptly and wordlessly shifted so that he was facing directly away from Saber _and_ Sakura, with eyes held firmly shut.

Fuji-nee chuckled at that with a mischievous smile. "As expected of the Virgin-Killing Sweater Mini-Dress."

Shirou ignored her, his eyes still closed. Out of sight, out of mind.

"Fujimura-sensei, what exactly is this all about?" Sakura's voice was tinged with confusion, but oddly even.

"Oh, Sakura-chan, you haven't met Saber-chan, yet, have you? It's so sad. Her fiancee left her stranded at the altar, and–and, then he—what did he do again, Saber-chan?"

Saber picked up from Fuji-nee's failed attempt at telling the story. "Indeed, he left me bereft of love and duty, alone at that mockery of a matrimonial stage, but his manhood could not abide before his betrayals were threefold cast. In turn, after he stole my love, next were taken my dignity then my faith. Yes, the second he snatched up when I turned my misgivings toward him, and so incensed was he that he filled his hands with the garments of my nuptial vows and tore them from my flesh!"

Fuji-nee gasped, once again engrossed in Saber's regaling of the circumstances which led her to the here and now and apparently not noticing the clear and obvious discrepancies.

"Senpai," Sakura's voice spoke near his ear, loud enough that he could hear her over Saber's prattling and Fuji-nee's clapping. "Please tell me what's going on." Ah, so she wasn't falling for Saber's story.

Shirou wasn't sure if it was safe yet, but he opened his eyes a crack to address Sakura. "Well, it's kind of hard to explain..." he started, wondering what he should say. "Anyway, the problem is that she doesn't have any daytime appropriate clothing, and, well, Fuji-nee wanted to–to help."

"'Help'...?" Sakura glanced at something behind him.

Shirou stopped himself from looking, but just barely. "Yeah, so, if you could help sort Saber out, I'd really appreciate it." He gave her what he thought was an apologetic smile.

Sakura gave him a serene smile in return. "Don't worry, Senpai. Just leave everything to me." She said it with such confidence that Shirou couldn't help but feel that she would succeed.

"—then, as in uffish thought stood I in the clearing, bathed in Diana's light, an ursine beast, eyes aglow, made to rend me, unheeding of the thorn and bramble in our line. I feared for my life! But, lo! From the woods came the whistle of an arrow's tip piercing through the night air. It struck the monster true, yet it was unflinching and unfeeling. But attention was off from me! I stole for the cover of shade and darkness while still I had moment. Contrarily, my savior shed his shadowy cloak and stood bare in the moonlight, standing tall against the claws of Mother Nature's champion. The crimson of his hair—a beacon of hope and light that never wavered as he and the creature wrestled—the color is seared in my sight. Their combat stood until morning peered from under its veil, when finally only my hero, Master Shirou, prevailed."

Fuji-nee wiped a tear from her eye and sniffled. "I don't approve of you rolling around with bears naked until morning, Shirou," she burbled, "but thank goodness you were there to save this poor girl!"

Shirou's cheek twitched, and he made a mental note to say a prayer for Sakura's endeavors. She'd need all the help she could get.

* * *

An electronic tone accompanied the whir of the automatic door as it slid open. Shirou sighed internally as he stepped over the threshold, returning the cheerful "Welcome!" of the attendant.

He hadn't expected that leaving everything to Sakura would involve getting ejected from the Emiya property, but Sakura had said, "Senpai, I'm going to take a little bit of time. No peeking!" before unceremoniously shooing him outside. It was too late to be of much help at Copenhagen—the commute alone saw to that—so killing time at the convenience store was the most, well, convenient option.

The air inside was considerably warmer than the winter breeze outside, but not so warm he was uncomfortable in his jacket. Still, he unzipped the front about three quarters of the way down as he wandered through the aisles.

Nothing really caught his eye. The various foodstuffs on the shelves were, while not of poor quality, generally not suitable for use as ingredients. Too processed, too much preservative, too artificially flavored. Although he had to admit he was hungry, never having gotten around to serving dinner, he wasn't about to stoop to buying the pre-cooked meals they served. At least, not while he still had food waiting to be eaten.

The pink cover of a magazine on the rack caught his attention. He instinctively glanced toward the woman behind the cash register, who, he noted, was watching him but without any real focus. The other employee had gone off somewhere and was nowhere in sight. Shirou shook his head and grabbed the magazine and stiffly started flipping through it.

The contents were... interesting, certainly, but the target audience of _Pichi Lemon_ was a bit younger than Saber's apparent age, height notwithstanding, so back to the rack it went. Still....

Shirou picked another magazine off the rack. He wasn't exactly certain about women's fashion. He just knew what he liked, he supposed, and none of the women in his life dressed like they did on these pages. Although, admittedly, Fuji-nee was about as fashion-conscious as a rock, and his experience with the girls his age were ultimately limited to his interactions with them at school where they either wore the Homurahara Academy uniform, or various club-related gear.

Of course, this meant that he had no idea which magazine to pick from for Saber to base her fashion on, whether or not Sakura was successful in cleaning up Saber's appearance to begin with. And, although he had faith in Sakura's competence elsewhere, he suspected not even her well-meaning efforts would be bearing much fruit in this particular circumstance. Which meant that he ought to prepare a backup plan: _Operation Fashion Study: feat. Saber_. He had a fervent hope that this backup plan would also require minimal involvement on his part. With that in mind, he stacked up haphazardly selected issues of various publications, optimistic that at least one of them would hit the mark.

The woman at the register kept giving him funny looks as she rung up the magazines at an agonizingly slow pace. Each tick of the till sent another unbidden bead of sweat from his forehead. She paused for a very long time and stared at one particular cover, her eyes flickering to look at Shirou (who deftly avoided the eye contact) for several long moments before she wordlessly rung that up, too.

The ¥4,053 combined price of six magazines left him wincing, and he silently prayed for the fate of his food budget even as he reached for his wallet.

The sudden sound of gnashing metal crashed through the store. "You've got to be kidding me!"

Both Shirou and the cashier looked up. The male employee was running his hand through his hair, desperately fiddling with the control panel of the slushy machine, and the machine was being entirely unappreciative of his magic touch. It wasn't making a mess—yet—, but the mechanical din had apparently chased off a few would-be customers already. The employee, barely older than Shirou, it seemed, looked to be at the end of his rope.

"Come, on," he mumbled, fruitlessly pecking at some more toggles.

A thought struck Shirou. He still had more time to kill, and he wasn't the type to leave others in distress if he could help it, no matter how diminutive the distress might seem. Not when there was someone to save. "Excuse me...."

* * *

Shirou slipped back into his house an hour later, carrying his purchased magazines in a cheap plastic bag. Disappointingly, he had spent more time convincing the employees to allow him to touch the machine than it took to actually repair it. There wasn't much mechanically wrong with the machine, but it had been left in a bad state by improper inputs on the control panel, which was unfortunately not one of Shirou's areas of expertise. Still, he soldiered on and was able to trial-and-error his way to success with liberal use of Structural Grasping to gauge his progress.

The employees had insisted on letting him take the magazines free of charge after that. He staunchly refused at first but soon gave into his baser nature after they agreed to "just" let him have a 50% discount. Perhaps his food budget could still be salvaged after all.

The house itself was so remarkably quiet, no sound but the blaring of the TV from the living room, that Shirou half-thought that Fuji-nee, Sakura, and Saber had all vacated for reasons heretofore unknown. "I'm home!" he called, sliding open the door to the only source of sound.

What.

Sitting in the center of the room was an amorphous pile of clothing vaguely shaped into a caricature of a human figure. It turned as Shirou stepped in, and underneath the many layers, Shirou just barely spotted a pair of sharp green eyes peering back at him.

"Mrmmfmr!" came Saber's voice brightly from the pile. "Ymm'ff rmfmrmmm mf mmmf!"

Shirou shook his head. This had to be Sakura's doing. "Hey, Saber, where'd Sakura and Fuji-nee go?"

"Fmfm Fmmfm fmmf Mmff Fmfmrm—" Shirou pulled down the muffler from Saber's mouth "—on a trek back to the latter's abode, Praetor. They requested I await your return, and so, as you see, I have done as much." She attempted to gesture, but her flexibility was trapped underneath seventeen pounds of cloth, so the movement just caused her to flop onto the floor uselessly. "Pardon my clumsiness, Praetor. This garb, although fashionable, makes even small gesticulations argumentative," she told him, not getting up.

"Fashionable is not the word I'd use," Shirou muttered.

"It appears I may require aid sitting back up again, Praetor. I wish to continue observing Yuuichi's search for his lost past." To prove her point, Saber groaned as though she were attempting to sit up, but otherwise did not appear to move at all. "This is admittedly quite vexing."

Shirou sighed. "Right, let's get you out of that."

He couldn't help but marvel at how Sakura had managed to fasten closed roughly twelve layers of sweaters, coats, and other things on top of one another without a single one tearing so much as a seam. He was having trouble doing the reverse while leaving the garments intact, although given the egregious stretching that had assuredly taken place, he wasn't sure if it was worth the effort. The top layers were now likely unusable to anybody but the most girthy. He thought about that. Donating these clothes to a big-and-tall store might offset the cost of the magazines he'd purchased—assuming of course that Sakura didn't want them back. It would be polite to ask, at least.

With ten layers peeled, Saber, once more sitting up and enraptured by the anime on the television, a rerun of a premiere that had aired on Thursday, looked to be dressed in a respectable two layers suitable for daily winter wear. What they lacked in fashion and color coordination, they made up for in modesty, and Shirou briefly considered not giving Saber the magazines and instead just surreptitiously returning them at some later date.

Still, they were bought now, and they would certainly give Saber some much-needed insight into modern fashion trends. Hopefully. If she got some use out of them, good, and if she didn't, well, he might still be able to return them if she was careful with them, and she seemed the type to care for material objects. Or maybe it was more that she didn't seem otherwise.

He unceremoniously, albeit neatly, stacked the magazines on the kotatsu, and Saber hardly spared them a glance. It wasn't long before the credits began to roll. Saber nodded in appreciation, bobbing to the ending music. "The hint of romance between Ayu and Yuuichi intrigues me. Indeed, the atmosphere has such emotional charge that I fear for their future already."

Ignoring Saber's review, Shirou slapped a hand onto the stack. "Saber, read these magazines when you have the time. The clothes Sakura gave you are fine, but it's probably a good idea for you to study modern fashion trends as well, and these will help with that." Hopefully.

"How generous of you, Praetor," Saber praised, picking up the top magazine and thumbing through it gently. "Indeed, these garbs appear comely as well as functional and better suit my nature as Miss Sakura's do hers."

Shirou's cheek twitched. He hoped "comely" didn't mean she'd pick one of the more risque options in the future. Fashion was one thing, but having to purchase such a thing for her and live with her wearing it around.... well, while it wasn't an _unpleasant_ or even _unwelcome_ thought, it would be enormously difficult to explain to anyone who cared to ask. Namely Sakura and Fuji-nee.

"Anyway, study up, and then once you have a better idea of what you want, we might be able to scrounge something up to match."

"A most generous Praetor, indeed." Saber smiled at him pleasantly. Shirou reflexively jerked his eyes away, mumbling, "No problem." Saber continued, "I will consume the contents posthaste. You shan't be disappointed at my performance."

As Saber dug into the magazines, Shirou assessed the state of dinner. He mentally thanked Sakura for having the foresight to properly contain everything so that they would still be adequate if reheated. No wasted food, no cooking a second dinner, and no mad and hungry Fuji-nee whenever she deigned to reappear.

He set aside a portion of the food for Fuji-nee, idly wondering if he should have bought a snack for her from the convenience store, and began the process of reheating the rest. It was a relatively short process, and soon a pleasant aroma was whirling once again through the air.

Dinner was a quiet affair with Saber engrossed in her perusal of the magazines. She was very thorough, it seemed, flipping through the pages and reading each one by one, absorbing rather than just leafing through. Shirou didn't particularly mind the quiet, but he was used to Fuji-nee being around for mealtimes and without her raucousness, things were perturbingly calm. He wondered what was taking her so long to get back.

He was starting to worry when she hadn't returned by the time he'd finished eating, and was contemplating leaving to go find her when Saber suddenly broke her silent study with elation on her face. "Praetor! I've found a solution that requires no further investment more than a paltry! Indeed, this manuscript is Deus ex Machina! I almost regret that such an answer was so readily given without hardship, but alas the knowledge has been seared into my brainstuffs and I can forget it no longer. Stubbornness in this regard is foolhardiness."

Shirou tilted his head in confusion. "Ah, so wait, do you mean there's some fashionable clothing you can wear that we won't need to buy?" That was highly suspect, but his budget was still smarting.

"Indeed. Common household items shall be enough. Truly a golden apple dropped by the gods." She seemed eager.

Household items? Maybe some sort of blanket toga? Had those somehow become fashionable? "Well, if you think so, you can go—"

Saber was already up and gone. "I shall return!" came from the hallway.

Shirou sighed and neatly restacked the magazines. One was missing, which he assumed Saber had taken with her. He hadn't examined them thoroughly enough earlier to recognize which one that would be, however. They were all too similar to him.

He gathered the dishes from the table and began to methodically wash them. The current of warm water running over the dishes was relaxing after earlier's trying hours, and the almost mechanical nature of washing allowed him to drift away for a bit.

"Praetor, have you any—where are the healing pla—ah, worry not, they could not escape my search for long!"

Her voice ripped him right back into reality. He frowned for a moment but went right back to scrubbing.

Behind him, the shuffling of bare feet heralded Saber's return to the room. "My fashion is once more unsullied, Praetor, aside, I'm afraid, from a lack of properly matched stockings, although the text was adamant such an addition was unnecessary. Indeed, although regretful, I must play the hand dealt. With that supposed, lay gaze upon me, Praetor!"

An outfit assembled so quickly _had_ to be something simple like a toga, right? "That was fast," he admitted. "All right, let's see—"

The dish in his hand almost shattered in his grip. A tiny fracture creeped from underneath his thumb with an audible clink.

Saber was wearing—well, she was wearing _nothing_ it seemed like. She was standing in the middle of the living room nude as the day she was born. Not even a scrap of visible undergaments, tops or bottoms. He tried to exclaim in shock or disbelief or, really, anything at all, but all that came from his throat was a pitchy groan tinged with dismay.

No, wait, that was wrong. She wasn't _nude._ "Saber," he choked. "Are you wearing a _band-aid?"_

Saber tilted her head. "That would be foolish, Praetor. No, just the one would not be fashionable. I have on _three."_

Indeed she did. One each was strategically placed over the nipples of her breasts, and a third was determinedly attempting to preserve the modesty of her bottom half with an admirable sort of stubbornness despite the Sisyphean nature of the task. All three were the same color: flesh-toned, which made them all quite difficult to spot on her otherwise nude form. With difficulty, he avoided picturing her with "matching" stockings.

She puffed her chest, which, unbound by any support whatsoever, wobbled enticingly. "Glorious, is it not? Truly a raiment suited for an emperor!"

Shirou opened his mouth to reply, although he was still unsure what he ought to say, but before a sound could leave his lips, the door slid open.

"I'm back from helping a blond, suspiciously handsome foreigner find his way around Fuyuki by pointing him to a police box while on my way back from Sakura-chan's home, and now I'm even hungrier than before!"

Shirou froze even as Saber struck a dramatic pose that showed off all the nothing she was wearing. "Lady Taiga! Look upon my adornments!"

Fuji-nee's smile visibly dropped from her face and clattered to the floor. She was stiff enough that her body proper might have followed, but color quickly saturated her face in defiance. "SHIROU! WHY IS SABER-CHAN NAKED IN YOUR LIVING ROOM?! I REFUSE! I REFUSE! I REFUSE! I REFUSE!"

Saber looked perturbed. "My beauty is a boundless gift to the world! I regret that even you may not be fit to see it for its true glory, Lady Taiga."

"WHAT?! NOT FIT?! BUT I GET MY DAILY EXERCISE IN EVERYDAY!"

"I fear we have a miscommunication."

Ignoring the two, Shirou slowly walked past the bickering women, one next-to-nude and the other, thankfully, _not_ , and began reacquainting his forehead with the wooden frame of the doorway.

_CRACK._

"I told you so, Praetor."

* * *

Next time on _The Emperor's New Clothes..._

"You know, Emiya-kun, I gave Saber-chan some clothes. On that first night?"

_King Arthur's Fight with the Great Cat!_

See you then! ❤

* * *

Despite the misleading next episode preview, the following story will not be a continuation of this one. That'll be saved for some future date, assuming I don't forget how to write. It's liable to happen at times. Instead we'll explore another aspect of Shirou's partnership with red Saber: meeting other Servants!

For those who get here, this is the first in a series of vignettes starring Shirou and his summoned Servant, the eponymous emperor, as they navigate the trials thrown upon them by the circumstance that is the Fuyuki's fifth war for the Holy Grail. The stories won't necessarily be told chronologically and will instead skip between various plots and moments as I find them interesting to write.

Blame Raiyoukai for putting these awful ideas in my head.

If you liked the story, review. If you didn't like it, review. Or don't. But seriously please do.


	2. Hansel and Gretel

#  The Emperor's New Clothes  
and Other Tales of the Fifth Grail War

**"Lancer!"**

Lancer jolted awake at her Master's bellow, and with bleary eyes took a moment to recollect her surroundings. It was the sitting room, one of many, in said Master's castle (if you could call it that), and she was seated in perhaps the most comfortable chair in its entirety. She must have fallen asleep while reading.

**_"LANCER!"_ **

She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes but a sigh still escaped her lips. If it was urgent, she would have felt a stronger tug from her Master's bond, but as of late her Master had begun to shirk her duties as a participant of the Grail War in favor of making bedfellows with what should have been her enemies. She groaned as she left the arms of her seat and just remembered to memorize her place in the book she was reading. It seemed Malory would have to wait.

She stretched as she stood and picked a few pieces of lint from her coat. Even if Illya wasn't going to be appreciative of the effort, it paid to be presentable. When she was certain she was in order (and that she hadn't drooled on her sleeve again) she marched into the hall and into a tall body.

It was Servant Archer. "Hey, Saber," he said, with a wave and an obnoxious grin.

"It's _Lancer."_ She ground her teeth. How many times had she corrected him now? Uncountably many, yet he still feigned ignorance!

"Your Master was calling, you know," he said, ignoring her again. "You were taking so long, I just had to make sure you weren't lost." He gave her a bright smile. "Again."

"I was not lost then," she spat. "And I'm not lost now. _Good day,_ Archer." She pushed past him, but he deftly moved aside. She turned the corner and came face-to-face with a dead end.

Archer choked back a laugh.

 _"Don't—!"_ She glared at him and he just smiled in response. His lip twitched. With a last look at him, she stormed away.

She was sure he burst into laughter once she was out of earshot. He made it a game to do his best to make her want to murder him, and he was skilled. But he would get his. She swore it.

After a few minutes of wandering, and much cursing about infernal architects, she finally found her Master's quarters. Hopefully. She knocked on the wooden door firmly.

She sighed in relief at her Master's voice. "If that's you, Lancer, come in already!"

That was permission, enough. It was a formality that her Master likely didn't appreciate, but Lancer made a point of knocking every time.

"It's about time!" Illya and her maid, Leysritt, sat on the bed. No, that was wrong. Leysritt sat on the bed. Illya wiggled to and fro erratically, waving around a purple device connected by wire to Leysritt's more boxy thing.

"Take this! Zap Cannon!" Illya cried at an unclear target. "What?!" she screeched. "It missed?! That's not supposed to miss!" She threw the device on the bed, and the connecting cable popped out.

"Ah. Rage quit. Disqualified," Leysritt said in her stilted, unnatural way. The corners of her mouth quirked a little, but her face remained otherwise neutral.

"Arrgh! Stupid game!" Illya flumped facedown onto her blankets. "I should've won." She lay still for a moment before turning a glare toward Leysritt. "Let's trade! Trade me your best one!" she ordered sternly.

It wasn't very effective. "Sore. Loser."

"Urgghhh," gurgled a voice at the window. "Keep it down. Some people need sleep." It was Archer's Master, and she badly needed rest, it looked like. Her hair was in disarray, her clothes rumpled, and her eyelids drooping. She turned over and snored.

Lancer cleared her throat. "You summoned me, Master?"

Her Master grunted and pushed herself off the bed. Drawing herself up all 133 cm, she declared, "Lancer, I need you to go on an errand for me."

"An errand?" Lancer looked at Leysritt who seemed engrossed in her rectangle and not at all busy.

"If I'm going to keep playing this," Illya said, waving her purple device around, "I need more batteries because _someone_ —," she glared at Leysritt, who stared back without expression, "—has been stealing them all! So you're going to buy more."

"Pardon me, Master, but is this not Miss Leysritt's sort of task? Or Miss Sella's perhaps? If I'm not at your side should a situation arise...." Her eyes flicked toward Archer's Master, who had slipped out of her chair onto the floor with her neck bent uncomfortably.

"We can handle ourselves, Lancer. What's important is that you do as you're told. Leys will be here to make me presentable for my date with Onii-chan, and Sella...." Illya's cheeks reddened and she looked away. "Sella is taking a mental health day."

Leysritt nodded. "Mario. Party. All night."

Lancer grimaced. "I see." She was suddenly very glad she hadn't investigated the noises last night.

"Leave me alone, Boo! Get your own stars!" Archer's Master mumbled from the floor.

"Listen carefully, Lancer. I want you to go to Mount Miyama and pick me up some Eneloop—got it? _Eneloop_ —AA Rechargeable batteries. And a charger, too." Illya tore a sheet of stationery from her pad and handed it to Lancer. The ink on the page was still wet. "That's the address."

Lancer nodded. "As you wish, Master."

"What are you waiting for? Hurry up! And be back before my date with Onii-chan!"

The Tohsaka Master snored. "Shut _up,_ Daisy."

##  Hansel and Gretel

Lancer took to Mount Miyama by foot, wishing she had some vehicle. What use was Riding without one? The sun was near its zenith by the time of her arrival. Its rays shone down on the rows of buildings that made up the shopping district, warming up the cold morning air to a pleasant temperature.

The bustle of vendors and shoppers around her bestowed a sense of life and energy to this place. She refused more than a few packages of branded tissues from the young women handing them out. Delicious aromas floated from all around, but she pulled herself from the temptation. Orders first, then lunch.

She unfolded the sheet Illya had given her. "Miyama Electric Goods," it read, but the rest was smudged. The entire address was unreadable. She stared down the road with dread. It suddenly stretched somehow further into the horizon.

She began to walk. Past the vendors up her path, advertising enticing foodstuffs. Past the woman stacking scoops of ice cream in perilous towers. Past the man selling crepes from a portable installation. Each distraction pulled at Lancer like a magnet. Each time, she closed her eyes and shook her head, resolving to focus harder.

Alas, focus didn't help. It was long past lunchtime when she reached the end of the road, but she had no success. She had fallen to distraction. Those crepes had just smelled so delicious....

Hands covered her eyes, and a shamefully high-pitched squeal tore through her throat.

"I've claimed your eyeballs, friend! Surmise my identity, or they are mine forever!"

Her captor—and it was obviously Saber—latched onto Lancer's back, her legs pinning Lancer's arms to her sides. Adrenaline-fueled panic coursed through Lancer's blood. Again? Why was this happening again? Why could she still not break free from Saber's grip?! Her memories assailed her, and an imaginary force tightened around her neck. She couldn't breathe.

A new voice spoke. "You should let go, Saber. I don't think Lancer-san is enjoying your game."

"If Praetor insists." Saber pouted and detached, and Lancer dropped to her knees, breathing heavily. She fumed at her loss of control. Saber was _no_ threat, preceding evidence aside. She and her Master were troublesome fools at worst. Still, she rubbed her throat, remembering Saber's "harmless" death grip.

"I apologize, Lancer. I'll keep her under control next time..."

Lancer took his offered hand and found herself staring into Saber's Master's golden eyes. His hand felt warm and familiar, and she found herself holding it for just a second too long. She jerked backward and scrambled to her feet, then cursed, berating herself for the overreaction. He blinked owlishly at her, with his head tilted slightly. 

"A–ah," he stammered, with eyes that hesitated to meet hers. Good. "Hey, Lancer. Is Illya around?"

She cleared her throat. "Not today. No. I am...." She looked back at the smudged sheet. "On an errand." She frowned at the sheet. "Hmm."

The Emiya boy gave her a curious look. "You're not lost, are you, Lancer?"

"I am _not_ lost. I don't _get_ lost. I merely lose sight of my destination."

"Is there some distinction?" Saber quipped.

Lancer glared at Saber and bowed stiffly in their direction. "If you'll excuse me—," the sooner she was away from them, the better, "—I have a vendor to find."

"Hey, hold on!" Lancer involuntarily paused at his call. "I can help. I'm familiar with the area, and it's not trouble at all. Besides, I'm sure Illya wants you by her side as soon as possible." He half-smiled encouragingly and sidled up beside her to read the address, causing Lancer to flinch at the unexpected closeness. She could feel the natural heat radiating from his body—and again that strange, familiar warmth. "Batteries from Miyama Electric, huh?" he said, jarring Lancer back to reality. "That's... this way."

He walked and Lancer followed. Saber fell in behind them, uncharacteristically silent. They turned down an alley, and Lancer wanted to smack her forehead because she had been distracted from it by the crepe stand. Within was an unassuming entrance to an electronics shop.

The bell chimed as their group filed in through the doors. The old man at the till nodded his head at Saber's Master, who waved back. Perhaps he came often?

He led them down the surprisingly large interior of the shop, through the maze of narrow aisles. Saber couldn't keep her eyes in any single place for longer than a moment. Her gaze flew from shelf to shelf, curiosity and wonder on her face as she beheld the breadth of humanity's technological progress. Energetic gurgles rose from her throat, as though she were trying very hard not to squeal in excitement. Her Master had a tight grip on her wrist, gently tugging her along as he walked. A good idea, Lancer supposed, as Saber was the type to cause trouble if left unchecked.

Lancer reigned herself in better than the similar-seeming Servant, but she had to admit some curiosity herself. The Grail fed her knowledge of the names and purposes of each thing she saw, but knowing what a computer was and actually interacting with one herself had a chasm of meaning between them. In just the ten years since her previous summoning, it seemed the world of technology had once again grown in leaps and bounds.

"Saber...." Emiya sighed with exasperation.

"Yes, Mas—?" Lancer cut herself off. Archer's stupid game was making its mark on her, but he wasn't around to be dealt with, so she settled for glaring at Emiya's back. That made her feel so much better.

"Did you say something, Lancer?" He had a perplexed look on his face, as he turned to her.

Lancer melted her stern gaze quickly, then coughed and shook her head.

"Must have been my imagination then." His cheeks turned red as he turned his eyes toward the ceiling. "I thought you said—" He cleared his throat. "Anyway, Illya said she wanted _Eneloop_ batteries, right?"

"That's right." Lancer herself wasn't sure what distinguished one brand from another. Perhaps it was just a matter of quality, like how some crepe shops served better crepes than others.

"That's going to be a problem, I think. Looks like this place doesn't carry them." His eyebrows knit together in worry. "Maybe Illya misheard something?"

Lancer's brow furrowed. "What are you implying?"

"Eh? Oh, no, I don't mean anything by that. I just—I've never heard of this brand before. This place keeps the bigger names in stock for the most part, so it's surprising that Illya's asking for a brand name that isn't here. Maybe she meant _Energizer?_ That brand seems pretty big in the West."

Lancer wasn't quite sure if she understood his ramblings, but... "So I've been sent for nothing."

"It looks that way, if she's dead set on Eneloop," he said, scratching the back of his neck.

Lancer grimaced. Illya would absolutely refuse any brand other than the one she requested. "I see." She fought to keep the dread from leaking into her voice. She wasn't quite sure she succeeded.

"In any case," he continued, "if she needs batteries, we should pick some up anyway as a stopgap. She might not like the wrong brand, but I'm sure she'd prefer having some than not having any."

"How pragmatic, Praetor!" chirped Saber. "You'd make a decent advisor!"

Pragmatism aside, Lancer did not look forward to facing her Master without the _Eneloops_ in hand.

Then her stomach rumbled. She turned pink to the tips of her ears, glaring down at her traitorous abdomen.

"Hah! A lion roars from an intestinal cage, craving sustenance!" Saber chortled, then she rubbed her chin. "Curious, that, a Servant who hungers."

Her Master went straight to the point. "Did you skip lunch, Lancer?"

Lancer turned away but nodded. The tips of her ears felt hot.

"Well, I won't chastise you for skipping a meal because I'm sure there were extenuating circumstances, but I guess even a Heroic Spirit like you needs to enjoy a meal every now and then, huh?" He put his hand to his chin in a thoughtful pose. "How about this? I buy these batteries," he said, flapping a package of _Energizer_ batteries, "and take them to Illya. You and Saber can grab a bite to eat, my treat." He pulled some folded yen bills from his pocket and handed them to Lancer.

She stared at the wad of money in her hand, an inner war brewing within her. She could accept his kindness—and her stomach very much wanted her to—, but in so accepting she would be accepting a debt toward him. She glanced at him, wondering at an ulterior motive lying beneath his placid demeanor, but if there was any, there were no signs.

She should refuse. Ulterior motive or no, she couldn't bear to owe a debt to Emiya Shirou. Son of Emiya Kiritsugu, whom she hated. Master of Saber, whom she... severely detested. Who simultaneously stared at her while refusing to meet her eyes.

But then her stomach burbled again, and the words slipped out of her mouth of their own accord. "I appreciate your kindness."

* * *

Lancer wanted to berate herself for how she acted around Emiya Shirou. The moment he showed up, she became a lost, mewling child being led around to do a simple errand. Never mind that she had been unable to find the place. Never mind that _Eneloop_ apparently didn't actually exist. Never mind that he never actually physically dragged her anywhere.

She was just so frustrated at her sudden loss of competence. Surely this was a result of being so complacent for the last few months since her summoning.

"It's humorous to watch your interaction," Saber said, interrupting her own babbling and hopping in front of Lancer. "He believes you a man yet bears a torch for you." She clicked her tongue. "He dissembles so poorly, no? A blind man could spot it."

Lancer grit her teeth. "Man or not, _torch_ or not, it doesn't matter. I'm a Servant of this war, and an ally, but nothing further."

"Hmm? Just allies? Does your maiden's heart not beat furiously against your breast for him?" Saber punctuated the thought with a deliberate pause. Then she smiled widely. "I jest. Surely you don't feel the same for a fated enemy." Despite the certainty in her tone, there was a hint of a question in it.

"Indeed," Lancer replied simply. "There is no such affection."

Saber gave her a coy grin but didn't say anything.

Lancer picked up her pace and shoved past her smiling doppelganger, her head turn downward and eyes averted, but the other Servant just chortled and fell back into step behind her.

"Why do you dress so, anyway? Like a man," Saber chirped. Lancer didn't respond, so she continued. "Indeed, with proper furnishing and fashion—I've made this era's known to me, you know—, some color on your face and lips.... Yes, you'd bloom a healthy vividness not far from mine own, as, though you are more homely than I, we have a similarity of the face, thus what makes me shine must at least make you sparkle. Though, my own vestments perhaps would not suit you as well as I. What we share in countenance is not reflected in our forms. Your own is, in shape and height, more like a man's, thus cloth fitted to my womanly frame would not hang properly upon your shoulders—though they'd be too tight there as well, I think, and—"

Then she collided with Lancer's suddenly halted back. She frowned and rubbed her nose. "Ouch," she whined.

Lancer groaned. "Do you never hold your tongue?"

Saber tilted her head, her lips pursed in confusion. "And who would gain if I did? The world would drown in grief bereft of my wondrous tones."

"The only drowning will be in your spittle," Lancer muttered under her breath, almost hoping Saber would hear. She didn't. Unfortunately.

The queue for the crepe stand had grown somewhat in the time since she'd last seen it, but her craving was stronger than her logic, so she found herself joining at its tail end. Joyfully, it wouldn't be long either way. Saber joined her, under strict orders from her Master to stay by Lancer's side.

Lancer wished she could turn Saber loose, but the Servant remained true to her word and stuck to her. Like a barnacle. Who would not. Stop. Talking.

As far as Lancer was concerned, she no longer owed Emiya Shirou any debts. In fact, this counted as two favors, so really he owed her one. More than that, even.

Not that, after today, she would willingly confront him or his Servant ever again outside of battle.

"—are a fetching ensemble, I suppose, though the hues do more to dull my eyes than not. Instead of verdant forests, they become gray like the deadlands. Hmm, a troubling thought. I shall seek to correct these garments with haste. I've half—more than that!—the mind to throw caution to the wind and readjust now, although Praetor is adamant that such was unacceptable in polite company, and you, Lancer, have indeed been polite company, so I shall combat the urge and remain clothed these few moments longer—"

Lancer inched away from Saber as the line moved, but Emiya Shirou's Servant just followed, remaining unavoidably attached to her side.

"—a repressed people. Praetor as well, though I aim to break the bonds of his upbringing. Do you suppose he rides well, or should another be the rider? Hmm, let's exercise caution and remove Rider from his presence until an answer is revealed. Or ask kind invitation...." Saber gasped. "Does he find the male form as succulent as he does the female? That would explain...." She glanced meaningfully at Lancer. "The tension he and Archer share.... Is such a product of lust? Between them _both?_ "

The people behind them were whispering now, Lancer heard. She ducked her head, slowly sidling to distance herself from Saber, hoping no one would notice their similarity in appearance.

 _"Group relations!"_ Saber blurted, making Lancer jump. "A writhing mass of pleasure—has he a room large enough? Have we enough willing participants?" She looked at Lancer again, who jerked her head to face the other direction. "Myself and Praetor, naturally," she said, counting on her fingers. "Archer. Archer's Master. Rider. Rider's Master. Rider's other Master? No, not him. Praetor's friend—the one with the bow. The one with the spectacles as well, surely. Perhaps the golden Archer as well?" She looked at her hands. "The other Servants remain unfamiliar, but I've already run out of fingers." She clapped her hands and grinned from ear to ear. "Smaller than my customary, but more than plentiful! Be served anon, Lancer, before the rabble to our rear rouses."

Saber pointed behind Lancer, who had been so thoroughly distracted she hadn't even perused the menu. Unlike Saber, she was painfully aware of the mutterings of the people behind them and the pointed stare of the girl—likely a part-timer—behind the counter.

With no time to ponder, she jabbed at the first item underneath the "Savory" heading. Fortunately, she wasn't picky, so when, after a short wait, the woman behind the register handed Lancer a delicacy filled with cheese and chicken and lettuce, she held no lingering disappointment. It smelled heavenly.

She watched Saber, who unhesitatingly asked for an unavailable (and unoffered) loaf of honey-sweetened bread of all things, but eventually, after an excruciating "discussion" with the poor girl at the counter, settled for a dessert crepe that dwarfed her in size. Saber stared at it, wide-eyed, almost frightened.

Lancer ate hers as they walked. The aroma wafted into her nostrils as she took her first bite. Then her second. Then her third. Each was as delicious as the last, each with a different ratio of ingredients bringing out different aspects to the flavors as they melded together in her mouth. The crisp, yet soft dough soaked up the juices and sung a harmonious counterbalance against the sharper savory taste of the cheese and poultry wrapped within. Her tongue darted to lick her lips of mayonnaise as she chewed.

Saber picked at hers more slowly. Every so often, she would take a bit of the wrap and toss it onto the paved street, leaving behind a trail of the stuff.

"What are you doing?" Lancer asked, half accusingly and half genuinely curious.

"Like Theseus, I leave a path to follow should I seek to retrace my steps!" Saber squinted at her crepe. "And these flakes disturb me. They shall find no shelter in my stomach."

Now thoroughly confused, Lancer opened her mouth to ask for clarification but snapped it shut when she remembered who she was asking. Saber had so kindly spared her from a diatribe, and so she refused to tempt fate into spurring Saber into one for Lancer's hubris. So instead she just shrugged her shoulders and walked without questioning for once—out loud, anyway—Saber's eccentricities.

Her crepe, sadly, lived a short, albeit delicious, life, and Lancer found herself fighting against the temptation to march right back—following Saber's trail, no less—to the crepe stand and order another two or three or five crepes. The change from Emiya Shirou's contribution jangled in her pocket.

Distracted in thought, Lancer had so thoroughly tuned out the world around her, Saber included, she didn't notice the young woman with burgundy hair and a glazed expression walk up to her and spray her with a cloud of perfume until she was coughing at the sudden burst of miasma.

"Please enjoy a small sample of _KENZO'_ s scent, _FlowerByKenzo,"_ the woman said with an awkward cadence and a vapid smile.

Lancer didn't care. She stumbled in a random direction until her lungs found (mostly) clean air. The coughing subsided, but her eyes still burned.

Saber walked up to her and sniffed sharply. "You smell of vanilla," she commented. "And flowers. And sweat." She wrinkled her nose, then noticed her companion's quivering shoulders. "Are you ailing, Lancer?"

Lancer was losing grip on herself. She tried to concentrate on Saber's voice, hoping sheer irritation would keep her anchored, but she felt herself slipping anyway. Eventually Saber's babbling became somehow less intelligible, and then she was gone entirely.

But then, so was everything else.

* * *

"It's getting late," Lancer told her sister. "We should find some shelter."

Saber plopped herself onto an exposed root, not caring that it soiled her dress. "Oh, what are we going to do, Lancer? The sun will set soon, and we don't know where home is. What are we going to eat? Where will we sleep?"

"I don't know, all right?" Lancer sank down. "I don't know." Her stomach grumbled. "I'm getting hungry."

"Aren't you always?" Saber gave her an impish smile.

Lancer glared in response. "Getting cheeky, aren't you?" Then she sighed. Her sister was just trying to lighten the mood, was all. She turned her glare toward the reddening sky, angry at herself for not making any progress.

Saber began to sniff, and Lancer glanced at her, wondering if she was crying. "Sister, everything will turn out f—"

"Do you smell that?" Saber asked. She sniffed again.

"Smell what?" Then Lancer smelled it too. It was warm and fresh, and she couldn't quite place it, but her mouth was starting to water all the same. "What... what is that?" She couldn't keep the wonder from her voice.

"It smells heavenly," remarked Saber, no less enchanted.

And so they followed their noses as best they could. The woods grew ever darker, but the smell grew stronger and, somehow, more enticing. More delicious. 

They came upon it in a clearing. It was a house. More a cottage, really. It stood no taller than the height of a man and maybe half more, and it was as wide as only two, perhaps, and would be otherwise unremarkable save that it had been constructed entirely of freshly cooked, aromatic, delectable, and irresistible chunks of meat.

Smoked ham, roasted chicken breasts, grilled salmon, seared brisket, and barbecued ribs, all of it stacked into a precarious construction which appeared to stand more by sheer force of will than by any natural laws of the Earth. Yet, stood it did before the eyes of Lancer and his sister, who were both stricken with such awe that their brains had yet to decide on some action.

Lancer finally pulled her jaw closed to swallow the sudden volume of saliva in her mouth. "Saber. Do you see it as well?" She couldn't take her eyes off the sight.

"It's a house. Made of, of _meat!_ How can there be such a thing?"

Lancer stepped closer. "Do you think that you, we can eat it?" She reached out to grab at a chicken leg, which tantalizingly stuck out from among its brethren.

"Perhaps we ought not to. I don't imagine I'd be very glad if two strangers started to eat _our_ home."

"If it smells this good, there's no way it's not for eating." She grabbed at the chicken leg, and, though the walls wobbled in response, the surrounding food fell into the space left behind and the house remained standing.

"It's like magic!" Saber exclaimed.

Lancer examined the morsel with a keen eye but sensed nothing wrong with it. She placed it between her teeth, where its aroma found a direct path into her nostrils, incensing her to tear a chunk out with a deft jerk of her head. The meat slid off the bone easily. The crispy skin on the outside crinkled even as the juicy white flesh inside flooded her tongue with a throng of flavors. She moaned in delight as she chewed and swallowed, just in time for another bite and, soon after, another choice of meat.

Next came a steak, grilled to perfection. Then came a rack of ribs, soaked in sweet marinade that sent tingles down her spine. After that came the ham, glazed with honey and cleanly sliced. Each tasted more delicious than the last, and though the house shuddered whenever Lancer freed another from its walls, it remind as tall and as sturdy as it had since before the first.

Sparing a glance to her right, Lancer noted that her sister had also picked something from the savory structure and was nibbling her food more voraciously (if you could call it that) than at any meal they shared. But having paid enough attention to her sister, Lancer turned back to their cornucopia.

"Stop!" came a voice. "Stop! Stop eating my house!"

Lancer paused mid-chew and looked up, finding herself looking at a woman perhaps her mother's age, who had an apron on over her plain dress and her hair tucked behind her curiously pointed ears. "Is this your house?" Lancer asked through a mouthful. "It's very delicious."

"It _is_ my house, and you're eating it!" reprimanded the woman.

Lancer shrugged. "If you didn't want passersby to eat it, you oughtn't have made it of meat." She finished her sausage, and made to grab a new one, but her hand was smacked forcefully away. She rubbed at the sting and glared at her assailant. "Now what'd you go and do that for? A bit rude, isn't it?"

Lancer yelped in pain as the woman yanked her ear. _"Rude_ is feasting on someone else's property without permission!" Her anger evaporated as she smiled at Saber. "Come on in. I suppose I'll just have to have you both for dinner." She dragged a cursing Lancer inside by the ear, and Saber followed them in.

It was brightly lit by a ceiling mounted lantern inside. Flames danced inside a fireplace made of stone and brick, and the meaty walls seemed somehow less appetizing from within.

Lancer rubbed at her reddening ear when the woman finally released it. She hissed at the pain and glared at her.

"Are... are you the Witch of the Woods?" Saber asked, squirming in place.

The woman smiled kindly at them as pots and pans clattered in her hands. "Indeed I am. I'm not surprised you could tell. You seemed quite astute," she told Saber, who blushed to her ears. "It's not often I have guests for supper. It will be a nice change of pace." She paused. "You _are_ still hungry, aren't you?"

"Of course!" said Lancer. At the same time, Saber chimed in with, "Yes, ma'am!"

"Such a lively pair," the Witch chuckled. "Now, come along. Put these on and clean yourselves up for supper."

Lancer disrobed, folding her dirty trousers and shirt into a messier pile than Saber's, then attempted to don the new set. Her sister did the same.

The Witch grinned from ear to ear as they buttoned up. "You look so delightful, I could just _eat you up!"_

Saber smiled slightly, red-cheeked and head turned down.

"Oh! silly me! I've forgotten some ingredients." The Witch gave them an apologetic look. "You two make yourselves comfortable, while I head down to the garden." She walked outside, humming to herself a song that neither of them recognized.

Lancer looked at her sister, who blinked owlishly back at her but said nothing in response. For a few seconds they waited in silence. Then, Lancer said, "Do you suppose we just w—"

The room tumbled, and Lancer's knees buckled. She nearly dropped to the floor, and she clutched her head as the sudden disorientation pounded mercilessly at her temples. Then it ended, as quickly as it began. She looked around. The room's white walls were blinding in the artificial light, making her squint in pain, even as she confusedly wondered where she now was. Fanciful clothes, too ornate to be more than for show, filled racks at one of end of the room, and at the other end stood a full-sized diorama with pastel-colored backdrops covered in hearts and stars.

"This era is a marvel, isn't it? They make vestments that cling so tightly to the skin, to reveal the beauty encased without compromising modesty, yet can so easily be shared without readjusting the seams!" Lancer turned slowly and found Saber pulling at the white fabric of a spandex bodysuit. She released it, and its elasticity snapped it back into place. She pulled at it again for a repeat performance. "It's fascinating. If a one would claim this witchcraft, who would disbelieve him?"

Lancer stared at her, uncomprehending. "Sister, what are you wearing?" Odd. Calling her "Sister" felt somehow wrong. Whoever she was to Lancer, she wore not only a body suit, but a short—very short—pleated orange skirt and a enough ribbons and frills to choke a whale. Yet, outlandish as the ensemble was, there was something familiar about it that she couldn't place....

"Sister?" Saber tapped her lip. "Hmm, how potent a brew to addle a Servant so long. One with Magic Resistance at that!" She patted Lancer's head, saying, "There, there, dear Lancer, may your recovery be swift and sure."

Lancer swatted her hand away. "Cut it out!" She glared, reaching up to smooth out her hair and met resistance in the form of a hard, round ornament. "What?" she murmured in confusion, bringing her other hand up to find a matching ornament on the other side. Both fastened her hair into spherical buns with tresses trailing downward, further than her own hair should normally reach.

"What am _I_ wearing?!" she shrieked. It was the same ridiculous costume, except blue where Saber's was orange. Slim red boots with two inch heels went up to her knees, but her thighs between there and the hem of the unreasonably brief skirt felt horribly naked.

"Adorable, is it not?" Saber asked with a giddy smile, then she pouted. "I'm appalled, to be honest, that I cannot easily claim being the more charming of us both. Indeed, though my own personal pulchritude permeates pleasing perfection, your considerably-differentiating lack of physical charm is paradoxically... charming! How vexing."

Lancer frowned, feeling insulted although she wasn't sure what about. "Now, see here, S–sister—"

With a crash, the door at one end of the room flew open. In walked a woman, wearing a yet another of the strange outfits, but with a black skirt this time, holding a camera in one hand, and waving a roll of film in the air with the other with enough enthusiasm to send her long, lavender blue hair splaying about. "I've found it, Miss Saber! We'll have to make it count. This is the last roll."

Saber's eyes sparkled. "Splendid! Make haste, that we may let our beauty forever reign through the ages!"

Lancer's eyes narrowed, suddenly recognizing the woman. "THE WITCH!" she accused. "What have you done?!"

The Witch's gleeful gaze turned suddenly poisonous, with a hateful glare and a raised lip. "You dare call me that–that _hateful_ word?! How does this falsehood chase me even in death? Has even history deemed me so? What a joke! A joke? No, worse—it's a lie! Nothing but slander! Just a lie! It's a lie it's a lie it's a lie it's a lie it's a lie—!"

The fog lifted from Lancer's mind, and she blinked. "Wha—?" She remembered the crepe (and why wouldn't she?), the perfume, and, for some reason, a cottage made of meat, but not where she was now, being ranted at—if one were permissive in defining "rant"—by an older woman in a well-tailored but ill-fitting Sailor Moon-esque costume. She looked at Saber, who was dressed similarly, and resisted the urge to look down on herself. She would very much regret that, if the goosepimples on her exposed thighs were any indication. "Saber?" she asked instead.

"—it's a lie it's a lie it's a lie it's a lie it's a lie it's a lie it's a lie it's a lie it's a lie it's a lie it's a lie—!"

Saber didn't reply and instead shushed her, maintaining her stare at the woman.

"it'salie it'salie it'salie it'salie it'salie it'salie it'salie IT'SALIE IT'SALIE IT'SALIE IT'SALIE IT'SALIE IT'SALIE IT'SALIE IT'SALIE LIE LIE LIE LIE LIE LIE LIE LIE LIE LIE LIE LIELIELIELIELIELIE IT'S! A! LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

The woman ("The Witch," Lancer's brain supplied helpfully), who had long since collapsed onto the floor, screamed uselessly at the ceiling until her voice had gone hoarse and croaky. Then she fell limp and silent, save her attempts to catch her breath.

Nobody spoke into the quiet for what seemed like minutes until Saber erupted into applause. "Brava!" she exclaimed. "Brava! My heart weeps mournfully at your performance! My soul is moved by your sheer repetition, each utterance a punctuated hammer blow in the face of your opposition!"

Oh, so it had been a performance. Lancer nodded along with Saber's words but otherwise said nothing, not being the least bit familiar with the drama plays of this or any era. She did clap politely, however. It seemed the proper thing to do, even if she didn't care for the display personally. She shook her head, and turned to ask, "Saber, what are we doing here, in this place, exactly?"

Saber tilted her head. "Is Lancer Lancer once more?"

"... Yes?" Lancer guessed.

"Oh, frabjous day! Hmm, but where to start? Of course! Is it not obvious to begin at the beginning?" Saber spread her arms wide, as though welcoming a crowd from underneath a rising curtain, and bowed. "Indeed, it began at the day's end, when I was summoned by my Praetor's piteous moans to repel the dastard—no offense meant—who dared to raise her lance at him. My steel met yours, and repel you I did, by gripping your throat until you fought back no longer, if you recall, with limbs hanging limp—"

"Yes, I do recall," Lancer interrupted, grimacing at the memory, "so kindly recall it no further. Skip to today." She paused. " _After_ the crepe stand," she added as an afterthought. You never knew when it came to Saber.

Saber pouted, but jumped ahead. "With crepes in hand, you and I marched to some destination unforeseen. You ate voraciously, while I consumed with more delicacy, and in the moment you envied my lady-like elegance, you were attacked!" Saber put on a face of anguish and shock. "You fell lock-kneed, cursing your baser nature toward the crepe with a fervor beyond the sun's own blaze, then suddenly stood and began a slow amble as though none of the prior had passed."

The woman on the floor turned over and moaned, "Mmm, Kuzuki-sama...." and started to snore.

"Following Praetor's command and my own command, I tailed your weaving path until we came to here's entryway. With hands pressed flat against the windows, you put tongue to glass and remarked that it was of a marvelous meaty flavor, until a matronly woman fussed over your dirtying of the panes. The gods smiled upon you, Lancer, for she," Saber pointed at the woman, "our benefactor, happened by and, taking pity on your addled brains, loosed you from punishment."

Lancer stared at her stone-faced. Best not to react. Best not to think about anything at all. "And the clothes?" she asked, tugging at a hem she planned never to see.

"Lady Caster merely wished to indulge in a hobby. She was entranced by our shared beauty, methinks." Saber's familiar, haughty smile crept across her face. "And not a one would blame her." She tilted her head. "Was that enough for your liking?"

"'Liking' is not how I'd describe any of that, no," Lancer muttered, then did a double take. "Did you call her 'Caster'?" she asked, looking at the boneless heap on the floor.

"Indeed!"

"Meaning Caster, the Magus Servant, one of the seven Servants of the Holy Grail War?"

"That is yet to be verified!"

Lancer nudged Caster's unmoving body with the toe of her red boot. The only response she got was a frown and a murmur of, "Such a tease!" that faded once more into snores.

"I don't suppose we could kill her now and be done with it," Lancer suggested.

The idea hung in the air between them. Saber's brow furrowed deeper and deeper as she waged war internally, and Lancer's dominant hand itched to grasp the grip of a weapon that wasn't there, even as her eyes locked onto the helpless probable-Servant.

"Best not," Lancer finally said, though it took some effort to draw it past her teeth.

"Indeed," came Saber's response, sounding more tense than her usual manner.

"Yes." Lancer looked at Caster again. "Yes. We shouldn't."

Saber nodded sagely, rubbing her chin. "Not a deed to be done by emperor or plebian alike, doing in a hapless spinster. Stay your hand or stain your hand, one could say."

They pretended to let the matter drop, but then silence reigned again, leaving them to their not entirely innocent thoughts.

Lancer's stomach growled. She turned away from Saber, who looked at her dubiously, and tried to change the subject. "Where are my trousers?"

"Where indeed?" Saber took the hint, surprisingly, and thought about it. "Aha! I recall that Lady Caster"—they both looked at her sleeping form again—"took them from the confines of this room. If they are to be found, they will not be here."

Lancer considered for a moment that she could just summon her battle clothes, conspicuous as that would seem, but decided against the idea. After all, she needed the suit regardless, or Illya's displeasure might multiply. She had already failed in her errand, after all. "Let's... let's leave," she said. She just wanted today to be over. "After I find the trousers."

"Lead on, Lancer!" Saber flourished an arm toward the door.

Lancer shook her head, but Saber's antics were almost— _almost_ —starting to grow on her. She pushed through the door and froze.

"Saber...?" she started, turning her head slowly toward the other Servant. "What are they doing here?" She pointed a finger at the array of tables and, more importantly, the _people_ seated at those tables. Many were turning to look. And whisper.

"They're patrons, of course. Oh!" Saber clapped in revelation. "I never said, but Lady Caster is waitstaff here. They wear such fashionable attire, do you not agree?" She waved at the crowd, eliciting a cheer from a few, and drawing far more attention than Lancer wanted at that moment.

"Hey, Onii-chan, stop opening your eyes! You're supposed to keep them closed or you don't look right!" A chill went down Lancer's spine. She recognized that voice.

"I can't see if I don't have my eyes open, you know." Saber shot up, looking around for the source of the voice.

"Deal. With. It!"

"Jiggly. Puff."

Lancer decided that retreat was her best option. She reached for the door knob, preferring the company of the sleeping woman than the fate that awaited her out here.

"I don't see why I'm here. Or why you're making me wear this _stupid_ get up."

Lancer turned the knob. Only it refused, and the door remained unopened.

"Pi pika pi. Picha," a deep voice replied gravely. "Pi."

She rattled the knob, but the door came no closer to opening.

"He's right. You lost, so you do what I say for the rest of the day."

 _"He's right?!_ How did you even—?!"

"Pika."

"Quiet, you!"

They hadn't noticed the two of them yet, thank God. She started banging on the door but to no avail.

"You're such a sore loser, _Misty._ The least you can do is lose with dignity."

_"It was freaking Mario Party!"_

Lancer was about ready to tear the door off its hinges.

"Hey, everyone, let's just calm down and—uh, hello, miss...?"

Lancer paused and resisted the urge to look over her shoulder lest she make unwanted eye contact. Then she noticed Saber was no longer by her side.

"Praetor!" came Saber's exclamation, and Lancer knew she was doomed. "It is I!"

"S–Saber?!" asked her Master in disbelief.

"Saber?!" said Archer's master.

"Pika?!"

"Sailor Venus?!" Illya squealed.

Lancer closed her eyes and cringed, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Wait, if you're here," said Emiya Shirou, "then where'd Lancer, go?"

The other shoe clattered to the floor when Saber said quite loudly, "Espy her there, Praetor!"

Time slowed to a crawl as Lancer turned just enough to see them snapping gazes toward her. She jerked her face away, hoping beyond hope they'd look past her.

 _"SAILOR MOON?!"_ Illya screamed and shot like a bullet toward Lancer with pure glee in her face. "Lanc—I mean, Sailor Moon, your costume is perfect!"

"Erm, hello, Master," she choked. "What brings you here?"

"I'm on a date with Onii-chan," Illya replied with a wiggle and a sing-song tone that were completely at odds with her boyish jeans and cap. "A _cosplay_ date. A cosdate. I made that up." She grinned proudly. "We even have our own entourage!"

"I can see that." Archer's Master's shorts and tank top combination wasn't entirely outlandish, and neither was Emiya Shirou's green vest and brown cargo pants. Leysritt had a curled tuft of hair over her forehead and a headband with short pointy ears. Archer would haunt her dreams forever, though, with his red, circular cheeks and darkened nose and long yellow ears and matching onesie. She shuddered.

"Sella wanted to chaperone, but I told her to stuff it," Illya added. Then her eyes narrowed. "What do you have to say for yourself, Lancer?"

Lancer didn't like where this was going. "Master?"

"Onii-chan told me there's no such thing as Eneloop. Onii-chan's a very naive person, though, so I've already forgiven him for giving me trashy American batteries instead. You, on the other hand, didn't follow orders and so will have to be punished."

"As you say, Master," Lancer said with a gulp.

"But I've decided to show you mercy. After all, it's not entirely your fault Miyama electric didn't have Eneloop in stock. So your punishment has been lightened." Illya took a deep breath. "For your transgression, you have to do the speech."

That brought Lancer up short. "The speech?" She couldn't mean....

Illya nodded. "The speech, Lancer. The love and justice one."

"Master, if you could—"

"The speech," Illya said. There was an unbudging finality to her tone. She walked back to their table and shooed Saber off the seat adjacent to Emiya Shirou so that she could sit there herself.

"F–for love a–and...." Lancer mumbled, her cheeks hot.

"Louder!" Illya jeered.

Lancer took a deep breath with closed eyes, trying to shake the nerves off. The sooner she did this, the sooner she could drown herself in the nearest pool. It was easy when you didn't know how to swim.

Her eyes snapped open. "For love and justice!" She moved her hands, mimicking the character's motions playing back in her mind's eye. "I'm the pretty sailor-suited soldier, Sailor Moon! In the name of the moon, I'll punish you!" She punctuated the words with a final gesture, which she held for just a moment before she decided it was time to find a corner to hide in.

There was a smattering of polite applause, but Illya's face had a look of sheer approval on it that Lancer couldn't help but appreciate, causing her lips to quirk upward in a small smile. She resisted the urge to run and shuffled toward them instead, opting to stand behind Illya as no seats were free.

"You know," Archer's Master started, grinning. Sounded like it anyway. The far wall was just so fascinating Lancer couldn't look away. "For a guy, you do Sailor Moon pretty well."

"Yeah!" Emiya added quickly.

Archer smirked. "Pikachu. Pika—ouch." He rubbed his side where his Master elbowed him. "I mean, chaaa," he amended.

"Miss Rin speaks true! You channeled the character! You _were_ the character! Though I must admit unfamiliarity with the source material."

"Of course!" Illya scoffed. "Lancer is _my_ Servant, after all, and _I,_ unlike some others, don't settle for second best." ("Hey!", the aforementioned other interjected) "Even if he's a scrawny girly-boy, he's still _the_ King Arthur, so don't underestimate him even in matters outside of battle."

Archer snorted into his tea.

Lancer grimaced.

"Ah. Open mic night." Leysritt stood up and excused herself to line up for the on-stage karaoke.

Saber's eyes glowed. "A marvelous idea! I'll join as well!"

"No, don't—!" her Master blurted. "I mean, let's not do that today, all right, Saber? Give Leysritt a fair shot."

Saber pouted but didn't argue, although she did visibly deflate. "Very well, Praetor. As they say, the early bird gets the warning shot." She fiddled with the bow on her chest.

"'Worm'. 'The early bird gets the worm.'"

"Truly, Miss Rin? I find that makes little sense."

"You know what? I don't even care."

Illya smirked. "Aww, don't be like that, Misty!"

Archer nodded and added, "Pi pikachu!"

Lancer, for her part, enjoyed the brief reprieve from the spotlight. Putting aside her own feelings about the present company, she felt a warmth in her heart at seeing their easy acceptance of her Master. Illya needed something more than Heaven's Feel and the Holy Grail.

And if Lancer were honest to herself, so did she.

"For goodness' sake, Emiya-kun. If you want to ask Lancer if he shaves his legs, just ask!"

Lancer's eyes jerked toward said Emiya, who swiftly averted his own eyes, even as Archer's Master turned all attention toward him. "Tohsaka! What—?!"

"Lancer," she said sweetly, cutting him off, "please indulge Emiya-kun's curiosity for the moment. He can't keep his eyes off your thighs, you see, and I bet he's wondering just like I am what your preferred method of hair removal is. Shaving? Waxing? Maybe you use an epilator?"

Emiya's cheeks flushed red, and he mumbled, "That's not what I—"

"So then you were staring for another reason?"

"I do not practice body hair removal, no," Lancer answered smoothly, although she glanced at Emiya and discreetly tugged at her skirt, suddenly self-conscious about her exposed thighs. "There's never been a need."

The Tohsaka Master's teasing face darkened. "No need, huh. Is that right?" She muttered something about cross-playing blond pretty boys under her breath.

Lancer took that distraction and sat herself in Leysritt's vacated seat, sliding her legs under the lace tablecloth. Even then, she spotted Emiya glancing her way in her peripheral. She shivered but turned her head the other way, just in time to see Leysritt step onstage with mic in hand.

An electric riff burst from the speakers, then the drums kicked in, and a familiar melody filled the room.

_"Fighting evil. Ah. Moonlight.  
Winning love. Daylight.  
Never running. Real fight.  
Ah. Sailor Moon."_

Even omitting words, Leysritt was unable to maintain the tempo of the song. Nor could she sing in the proper key. Or the proper tune. Really, she seemed to be singing at the same tone all throughout, when her voice wasn't strangling itself into a choked whisper. It made Lance wince, but Leysritt seemed unbothered by the groaning crowd's reaction.

"Somehow nothing about this is surprising," Archer's Master murmured.

"Go, Leys, go!" screamed her own Master, having clambered up on the back of her seat, rocking back and forth as she redoubled her support for Leysritt's efforts. "Go, Leys, go!"

Lancer jolted upward, trying to get a handle on her uncaring Master's precarious position, but only succeeded in stumbling backward into Emiya, knocking him out of his seat and sending them both tumbling to the ground.

She lay on top of Emiya's warm body for a moment, trying to reorient herself, then pushed herself up to find herself staring into Emiya's wide eyes and red face. The Tohsaka Master grinned widely, and Illya hid her own eyes behind her hands, peering down at her through the spaces between her fingers, torn between blushing and frowning. Saber looked giddy, and Archer....

Where in the world was Archer?

"My, how forward of you, Lancer," the aforementioned Servant's Master said. A high-pitched giggle escaped her throat. "A handsome king taking advantage of a poor innocent peasant." She giggled again. There was something in her eyes that shook Lancer to the bone.

"Tohsaka, it's not—!" Shirou stammered.

"Lancer!" Illya interjected, cheeks still beet red. "D-don't you dare make a move on my Onii-chan like that again, got it?"

"Master, it's not what you—"

"The group relations commence?! Then it is imperial privilege to partake!" A third body joined them on the floor, crushing Lancer down onto Emiya's surprisingly sturdy chest. She felt his muscles through the fabric.

"Saber! What are you—urghk, no! Leave my pants on!"

The Tohsaka Master hadn't stopped smiling. "They're not going to be letting us back in anytime soon, are they, Arch—what are you wearing?"

Archer adjusted his white mask and fixed his hat to tilt just the right way, two items of clothing he hadn't had moments ago. Likewise, he had abandoned his yellow onesie for a smart, fitted tuxedo, complete with a black cape with red lining.

He didn't answer her. Instead, he sipped his tea loudly and returned it to its saucer with a loud clink. He announced dramatically, "It seems my work here is done."

Lancer contorted herself to frown at him from the floor, still trapped between Saber and Shirou's impromptu floor dance. "But... you didn't do anything," she accused.

"At last! Trousers entangle Praetor no longer!"

"Wow, Emiya-kun. Do _you_ shave your legs, too?"

"D-don't get carried away with Onii-chan, Lancer!"

_"If you. Take. My hand.  
Ah. Fly away.  
To the skies. Eternity.  
Fly away.  
Ah. Sailor Moon."_

Lancer groaned and let her head droop down onto Emiya's shoulder. Still, she couldn't help but smile, even if she hid it in his arm. She felt, perhaps for the first time, actually glad that Emiya was around. At least this way they could split this particular misery between them.

Her righteous reprisal for any inappropriate touches would have to wait.

* * *

Next time on _The Emperor's New Clothes..._

"Lancer? Why are you wearing... _that?"_

_The Prince and the Pauper!_

See you then! ❤

* * *

I hope you enjoyed reading! I'm unashamed to admit that I drew not a small amount of inspiration from _The Artist and the Faker_ when writing this, so if you notice any similarities... _cough_ So yeah!

If you're confused about why things are the way they are, worry not! Again, the stories in this series will be told out of order, but I promise there is a timeline I'm working with. (I can't promise there won't be plot holes, though....)

I apologize to everyone who waited diligently for the this story's next installment. It took a long time and I had to scrap several different stories that just weren't working. I'm glad I could finally get this out there for everyone to read.

And now for some bad news: Please don't expect any updates to this fic in a timely manner. Although I do have plans for the rest of the stories, I'm afraid I don't have much time to budget for it in lieu of other things, but if I do have time, I might bang on the next installment anyway. In light of that, please consider this an official unofficial hiatus until it isn't.

Thanks again to Raiyoukai for pushing me to write this stupid thing and for ideas and generally supporting this piece.

And thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, followed, and, heck, everyone who read the dang thing too. I really appreciate it and all of you.

Until next time, ciao!

* * *

P.S. I had no idea Eneloop was a real brand until I started writing this. Apparently they weren't around in 2002 when I've decided to set this fic, though, so....


	3. King Arthur's Fight with the Great Cat

Breaking the formula tonight to give a hearty shout out to Sad Frog who called me out so hard I had to post this on March 22, 2020, the anniversary of the roast.

* * *

#  The Emperor's New Clothes  
and Other Tales of the Fifth Grail War

**_BRRRIIINNNGGGG!_ **

"Nnnngggh," Rin grunted, twisting under her covers. Her hand darted out silence the alarm clock. Her eyes cracked open, and through the blurry shapes she spotted the hands on the clock's face. 6:28am. Weird. She hadn't set her alarm to some silly time like that.

**_BRRRIIINNNGGGG!_ **

"Graahhhh!" she moaned, jolting out bed. She slammed the alarm clock heavily onto the desk, where it clattered loudly.

"As much as I'd like to see you murder your poor alarm clock, Rin, that's a phone you're hearing."

She gave her Servant a baleful look, mostly for the condescending innocence in his voice, but also because she knew that he knew that she was being her usual, embarrassingly witless morning self. She made a mournful noise as she stumbled downstairs to the phone.

**_BRRRIIINNNGGGG!_ **

She glared at the stupid piece of plastic, daring it to ring again. And what kind of monster calls at 6:30am, anyway? She was tempted, _so_ tempted, to just let it ring. It would serve them right, after all. Whoever it was. Why couldn't those stupid scientists let you know who was calling before you picked up the phone?

Eventually, her sense of curiosity won out over her pettiness. Besides, Archer was smirking at her, and she didn't need him to be anymore insufferable.

She took a deep breath and picked up the handset mid-ring. As soon as the cold plastic touched her ear, she announced, "Tohsaka residence."

"Tohsaka!" came the crackly voice on the other end. Sounded like Emiya. Good. Wouldn't want to murder the wrong person. "Ah, sorry for the bother, I have a—Saber, _where are your clothes?!_ —could I ask you to— _No! Not those again!_ —sorry, I just— _Lancer, what are you doing here?!_ —yeah, could you bring some, ah, clothes for Sab—guh! Sorry, I—!" Then the line clicked dead.

Rin looked at the receiver for a moment, trying to decide if she should laugh or cry or go back to sleep. Or all three.

Archer was no help. "I know what you're thinking," he said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed like he _wanted_ to look even more like an obnoxious prick, if that were even possible. "What a rude guy, that Emiya. Never even said goodbye."

"Shut up," she snapped, punctuating the words with a half-hearted glare.

Unfortunately, it seemed like if she wanted to know what was going on with Emiya, she'd have to get it straight from the source. Which meant taking the ten minute walk to visit the Emiya household instead of, say, sleeping in for another ten minutes like a sane person.

**_BEEP!_ **

The sudden electronic blip drew her attention toward the bright red **4** on the phone's display. The playback button pulsed in anticipation.

**_BEEP!_ **

With a shrug, Rin pressed play and listened raptly as an electronic voice whirred into existence.

"You have **FOUR** new messages.

 **"MESSAGE ONE.** Sunday, February 3, 5:23pm. '—ait, Tohsaka Rin?! Gack! I knew I recognized that number! Hey, Yukicchi, you gave me the number of some cold-hearted—!'

 **"MESSAGE TWO.** Sunday, February 3, 6:08pm. 'Hey, Tohsaka, it's late, but do you have any clothes you can drop off for Saber? Thanks for the trouble.'

 **"MESSAGE THREE.** Sunday, February 3, 6:33pm. 'Rin, I am pleased to inform you, all seven Servants have finally been summoned. As the overseer, I must put my duties as your mentor aside. But rejoice! Your wish is within your grasp!'

 **"MESSAGE FOUR.** Sunday, February 3, 8:52pm. '—ji-nee, you've got the wrong idea! It's not what you—Tohsaka, don't know if you got the last message. Just wondering if—Praetor! Observe!—Shirou, don't look!—urhgk!'

"End of messages."

For the second time that morning, Rin found herself staring at the phone. "What."

She ran her hands through her hair, still matted from her admittedly fitful sleep. Her lips twisted into a small grimace as she turned to her Servant. "Archer," she said. He inclined his head and looked toward her but made no indication to respond otherwise. She let the silence between them hang for another few seconds before sighing. "We're leaving early. I'm going to go and rip Emiya a new one. Don't you dare stop me."

Archer's ever-present smirk grew wider. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Rin only nodded in the affirmative and shuffled off to get ready for school. If she was going to murder an idiot, she wouldn't do it looking like she just rolled out of bed.

##  King Arthur's Fight with the Great Cat

Emiya's miso soup was surprisingly good, for something so simple. Better than Rin's attempts had ever been, but Chinese cuisine was more her forte anyway. She sipped on the steaming broth, the fog crawling past her temples and floating into the ceiling. Distant groans and splashes echoing through the walls. A relaxing experience.

Well, it would be, if the snot-nosed, white-haired gremlin across the table weren't glaring at her with murder in her eyes.

"What are you doigg here?" Said gremlin (colloquially known as the Einzbern master, Illyasviel) sounded like a petulant child. She looked like one too, if you could call a thirteen-year-old a child, but even for thirteen, Illyasviel looked underdeveloped. She also sounded very congested.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Rin retorted.

Illya slammed her hands on the table, rattling the bowls and causing some drops of miso to spill onto the table. "I asked first!"

Rin rolled her eyes and started to wipe up the mess. "Geez, Emiya-kun. What were you thinking leaving me with this brat?"

"Who are you calligg a brat, you harpy?!"

"Who's a harpy, you munchkin?"

"Master, you're spilling the food," said Lancer, prim and proper as always. He sat with perfect posture, his hair glowing golden in the morning sun, his face speckled with grains of rice, his lips twisted into a stern frown. "Emiya-san," he said with a whiff of distaste, "has been kind enough to include us for breakfast. We shouldn't waste anything."

As if on cue, Emiya screamed incoherently from somewhere else in the house. Everyone ignored it.

Illyasviel's cheeks puffed at the reprimand, but she sat back down, arms crossed, glaring at Rin silently. "Fide," she said. "But only because _Kigg Arthur_ asked."

"Kigg Arthur" held a tissue in front of his Master's face. "Now blow." With a loud _BRAPPPT,_ Illyasviel blew her nose. Lancer wiped the residue from her nostrils and tossed the tissue into a wastebasket overflowing with crumpled tissues then pulled another package from an inside pocket of his baroque-era coat. "Better?"

Illya nodded, sniffing.

Rin watched on impassively. On the outside. On the inside she was struggling not to break into laughter. If the other participants in this stupid war were like Emiya and these two, the Akasha was practically hers by default.

"How very _motherly_ of you, Saber," Archer said, causing Lancer to frown.

"Hey, Archer, what happened to _hiding yourself away to prevent hostilities?!"_ Rin hissed. Her fingers twitched, and a brief euphoric image of her wringing the Servant by his neck flashed through her mind. It was sadly gone in an instant.

"Saber! The towel! Use the towel!"

"You will address me as _Lancer."_ It seemed Archer's schtick was getting under his skin, although the only real sign of his breaking composure was a slight tic in his eyebrow. Rin could guess why. Though they looked almost like twins, calm and cool Lancer was the complete opposite of the rambunctious and frustrating Saber, and frankly, Rin wouldn't want to be compared to her either.

Archer cut him off, his lips curling into a smirk. "In your dreams, Saber," he said, pouring a cup of tea for himself and then for Rin.

"Archer." Rin plastered a smile on her face. "Why must you antagonize _everyone?"_

"Not everyone. Just Emiya and Illya-chan and Saber—" he pointedly looked at Lancer "—oh and you, Rin."

 _"That's everyone!"_ Rin exclaimed. Then everyone exploded at the same time.

_"It's Lancer!"_

"Who gabe you perbissiod to call be that?" 

"Aha! I've uncovered the spy in our midst. You there, foul deceivers, what secrets of mine and Praetor's do you intend to unearth?"

"Saber! Clothes!"

Rin observed the aftermath. Lancer was glaring daggers at Archer, his pose mirroring Illyasviel's. Both looked ready to suplex Archer to kingdom come. Archer was oblivious to the hostility, apparently. He sipped at his tea without acknowledging their anger at all and turned to Rin. "Not everyone. That one doesn't make the list."

"That one" was Saber, standing in the hallway in all her glory, with a small yellow towel wrapped loosely around her hips and Emiya trying desperately to cover her... very large assets. And failing. His hands just weren't big enough.

"I refuse, Praetor! Those rags are not worthy of my glory!" Said rags looked like a nice, if somewhat modest, sweater and a long purple skirt. "And that aside, there are more important matters now. Lo, there is chicanery afoot!" She pointed at the four sitting at the table. "Speak, villains, ere I cut your tongues from your throats!"

Emiya rubbed his temples. "Saber, those are guests."

"Truly? Are you certain?"

Emiya gave a meaningful glance at Illyasviel and her Servant. "Yes. I invited them." He said it so unconvincingly that Rin had to stifle a chuckle by having some more miso. "Tohsaka, thanks for coming by the way. You brought what I asked for, right?"

Rin made a show of tapping her lips in thought. "You know, Emiya-kun, I gave Saber-chan some clothes. On that first night?" She tilted her head, half-coquettishly, half-innocently. "I left them next to the hamper. Is it possible you missed them?"

Emiya opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, looking like a gaping fish Rin had once seen at the aquarium. Then without a word, he grabbed Saber by the shoulders and dragged her out of sight. They listened to the pounding of feet on wood, then a yell of frustration, then silence.

It wasn't murder, but it was a satisfying bit of comeuppance on the idiot.

"Nice job, Rin." Archer smiled at her, showing teeth, and gave her a thumbs up. "I'd give you a gold star, but I already gave them all to myself."

There went the satisfaction. She glared at him. "If I could re-draw my Servant, I would. Without even hesitating."

"You wound me, Master," he retorted, not sounding particularly wounded.

The door slid open again, revealing a much more clothed, Saber, wearing one of Rin's old tracksuits, her hair still wet and dripping over her shoulders. The tracksuit didn't fit her well. The trousers were too loose and pooled at her ankles. The top wouldn't close over her breasts, and the neatly printed "Tohsaka" on the t-shirt underneath was comically distorted by the stretch, and there wasn't even enough fabric for the shirt to cover her navel.

Rin's lips thinned involuntarily. Life just wasn't fair sometimes.

Emiya looked harried beyond belief. "You really helped me out. Thanks, Tohsaka," he managed to mumble out.

Geez, this guy was hopeless. "It's no big deal, Emiya-kun," she said. It really wasn't. But in the end, they were Masters competing for a chance at the Holy Grail, and they hadn't even formed an official alliance.

At least it was a charming sort of hopelessness. Kind of.

Saber bounced on the balls of her feet. "It's an amazing ensemble, Miss Tohsaka. Indeed, your sense for fashion fits with mine like the interlocking knobs and holes of a jigsaw puzzle—we are two parts of a whole, and I am ashamed that I had not given due notice before." She grabbed Rin's hands, squeezing them between her two palms. "Won't you forgive me this transgression?"

Rin looked at her entrapped hand and gave Archer a brief glance. Nope. No help there. Emiya just looked at her apologetically. She had resigned herself to playing along when she was saved by an unexpected visitor.

"Heyoo! I'm ready for breakfast, Shirou! And Sakura-chan's here too!"

Oh, thank god.

Six heads turned toward the voice to find Fujimura Taiga barging in, Matou Sakura in tow. Fujimura took one look at the assembled group and said, "Ah, I see. I'm interrupting a mixer. Sorry about that! Come on Sakura-chan, let's leave them to— _wait a minute,_ Shirou, it's time for breakfast not for drinking alcohol and meeting strange girls! And besides!" She pointed at Archer. "That one's too old and suspicious!" Then she pointed at Illyasviel. "And that one's too young!" And finally, she pointed at Lancer. "And that one's too pretty! What kind of operation are you running here, Shirou?! Was Saber-chan not enough for you? He's a wolf, Sakura-chan! Stay back!"

Rin couldn't help it. She let out a loud snort even as Emiya attempted to explain himself. "Fuji-nee, you've got the wrong idea! Sakura, it's not what you think!"

To be frank, Rin couldn't see how he'd explain this impromptu morning meeting away. For a second, she caught Sakura's eye, but the girl ducked back behind Fujimura in a flurry of purple hair. It must have been killing her, Rin thought, to know who and what Saber was and be unable to reveal anything if she wanted any sense of normalcy in her life. Rin couldn't begrudge her normalcy. Even if she couldn't show affection for Sakura, Rin still worried for her well-being.

Surprisingly, it was Illyasviel who dragged Emiya's butt from the fire. She stood up, blew her nose, and said with crystal clear intonation, "My apologies, Fujimura-san. I and my... servant are acquaintances of Emiya Kiritsugu, and Shirou-san has graciously offered to allow us to stay a few nights we sort out our business."

Fujimura looked at them suspiciously. "Eh? Acquaintances of Kiritsugu-san, you say? The same Kiritsugu-san who died five years ago?"

"We were informed by Emiya-san, yes," Lancer said. An unreadable expression crossed Illyasviel's face.

Fujimura's eyes narrowed. "You're so young."

Ah, so she'd noticed the discrepancy. Emiya Kiritsugu retired to Fuyuki ten years ago and died five years after that. Illya would have been three years old at the time, and Lancer, no matter how old he truly was, appeared to be a sixteen-year-old. It beggared belief that they would have even met the man ten years ago, let alone call themselves his acquaintances.

"How tragic!" she said through sudden tears, causing Rin's head to turn so fast toward Fujimura that her neck cracked. "It must have been heart-wrenching to arrive only to find out that he'd already left us! And in the prime of his life, too."

Rin blinked. And blinked. And blinked again. Was this woman for real?

Then Fujimura turned toward her, her eyes still glistening. "And what are you doing here, Tohsaka-san?"

Immediately her mask was on, and her mind was weaving a story from whole cloth. "Ah, my apologies for the intrusion, Fujimura-sensei, but Emiya-kun has kindly offered to let me stay as well until the renovations at my house are completed. There was an..." she paused and let a hint of worry slip into her expression, "issue with the pipes, I'm told."

"Oh, that's unfortunate!" Fujimura said, as expected. Then she looked curiously at Archer.

Rin broke into a frown. "And he's just here to be a nuisance."

"I see."

Archer coughed. "I'm her... second cousin once removed."

Rin wanted to smack herself in the face.

"Oh! Well that was obviously a little suspicious, but I'll accept it for now for Tohsaka's sake," Fujimura said. Really, how trusting was this woman? "But be that as it may, I'm not comfortable with the idea of Shirou staying with so many girls and a—I'm sorry, how old are you?" She looked at Archer.

"Age is just a number," he replied cryptically, and Rin really did smack herself in the face.

"...Okay, that did not make me any more comfortable with this arrangement. Shirou!" Emiya jumped. "Why are you letting strange older men stay with you? Have you already forgotten what I taught you about stranger danger?!"

"Fuji-nee, I'm not eight years old anymore!"

"You may not be, but you'll always be my cute Shirou-chan. You shouldn't make big sis worry about you like that!"

"It can't be helped. He's Tohsaka's guest after all."

It was amusing to watch the two interact. Their relationship during school tended to be of a more professional nature, when they interacted at all. Given Fujimura's personality, it was a miracle more of this hadn't leaked out during those times.

"I suppose you're right," Fujimura said, clearly miffed. She looked thoughtful for a moment then turned to Rin, who didn't appreciate being the sudden focus of her attention. "Tohsaka-san, do you mind if we speak privately for a moment?"

That caught Rin off guard, although it didn't show on her face. "Of course, Fujimura-sensei," she said smoothly. Archer and Emiya gave her uncannily identical "Do you want me to intervene?" glances, but she warded them both off with a shake of her head. "Lead the way."

In the privacy of the dojo—and that was a surprise for someone like her, who lived in a Western-inspired house—Fujimura sat her down.

"I won't claim I have much insight into your home life, Tohsaka-san, but I understand you are living alone," Fujimura started.

Rin nodded. She wasn't sure what exactly the school knew. Her mother's death was assuredly a matter of public record, but her father's death hadn't been so cut-and-dry. At best the school had the fake priest as her emergency contact and honestly, probably had him down as her guardian as well, but as far as the circumstances no one had ever asked. It wasn't unusual, after all, for a high schooler of her age to live away from her parents. "I haven't lived with my parents since first year started," she explained, which was true enough.

"I expected as much," Fujimura said with a nod. "Now, Tohsaka, I realize that being away from your parents has given you a sense of freedom, but you have to be careful. You're still young, you know. That 'cousin' of yours might not be your soul mate, even if it feels like he is right now. And he's a much older man. He might be trying to take advantage of you."

"I—what?"

"And—I'm not going to make any assumptions—but if you _are_ doing 'H' things with that man, make sure you use protection. You're still in high school after all, and I don't know if a man like that would stick around to support you if you had a baby. He sort of looks like the type, doesn't he? That look in his eyes like he's just having some fun."

"But I'm—!"

"I know. You're in love, and you want to give him what he wants most, but still—and I know it isn't any of my business, but I want you to promise me, Tohsaka-san, that you won't allow yourself to get pregnant until after you can support yourself. Promise me!"

"Fujimura-sensei, I think you're—"

"Please promise me, Tohsaka-san!"

Fujimura took Rin's hands in hers and gave her the same pleading, innocent look a roadside puppy might give in the hopes of being fed snacks or taken home. "... I promise, Fujimura-sensei."

"Promise what?"

Rin grit her teeth. "I promise I won't let that guy impregnate me." The thought alone made her want to vomit.

Fujimura smiled serenely. "Thanks, Tohsaka-san. That's a huge weight off my chest." She sprang to her feet and twirled out of the room. "Now it's time for me to have some breakfast!"

In the suddenly quiet dojo, Rin found herself staring at the far wall, trying to forget the entire conversation, but it was slow going. She didn't even notice when Sakura came to fetch her.

"Um, Tohsaka-senpai, the rest of us are heading out now."

Rin blinked at her. "Hey, Sakura..." she said, forgoing the artificial distance that normally kept her from addressing her sister by name. Even Sakura looked taken aback by that. "Did Fujimura-sensei ever make you promise not to get pregnant?"

Sakura looked confused for a moment until her eyes widened. Then she giggled. "Oh. So, Fujimura-sensei strikes again. I'll be sure to let Senpai know so he can properly reprimand her." With a mischievous grin Rin had never seen on Sakura's face before, Sakura fled from the room.

Rin stared at her retreat in shock for a moment before stumbling onto her feet. "Wait, Sakura, don't—don't just go around telling people things like that!"

* * *

Everyone was staring.

Rin was used to being somewhat invisible. She was notable in that she had a bit of an ice princess persona at school, and she wore a distinctive red coat that her neighbors and the people she went to school with would recognize, but she was used to a quick glance, maybe some guy checking her out, but not this.

Not these long curious glances that turned the heads of every passerby.

Thankfully, she wasn't the only one bearing the brunt of the glances. She looked at the others. Emiya and Sakura both looked a little worried, although Emiya's worry had more of a resigned cast. Saber trailed along, wearing her ill-fitting tracksuit, talking the ear off anybody who would listen—and everyone who wouldn't. Lancer, in his baroque culottes and frills, walked with such a resolutely casual gait that you might not even notice that he had a thirteen-year-old girl sitting on his shoulders.

In fact, the only two missing were Fujimura who taken her moped and gone ahead, and Archer who had vanished into spirit form.

Why hadn't Saber and Lancer done the same?

"'Tis unfortunate, but Praetor's ability in making wonders in the kitchen does not so easily translate to the art of crafting miracles. Alas, I cannot become as air," was Saber's response.

"It is my failure as a Servant that I cannot vanish at my Master's behest," was Lancer's.

So, a defective Master and a defective Servant. Were these supposed to be her allies? She took comfort in the fact that they hadn't actually officially formed any such alliances yet.

But that didn't stop the staring, which was starting to grate on her.

"Emiya-kun, what are we going to do about this?" she whispered, indicating the entourage. "Why are they coming with us?"

Emiya's mouth opened, then he glanced backward and then leaned in toward Rin. "I didn't want to leave Saber at home," he whispered—and that was completely understandable—"so I told her I'd show everyone around the school."

Rin gave him an amused half-smirk, half-grimace. She almost felt bad for the idiot. "What are you going to do about them when you get there? It's not like you can just show up to campus with a bunch of strangers."

"I know." Emiya frowned. "I'm still thinking."

"His head's bound to pop if he keeps it up," chuckled Archer into Rin's mind.

"Shut it!"

Emiya looked at her. "Hmm? What was that, Tohsaka?"

"Oh, uh, nothing. Never mind." She heard Archer's laughter echoing in her mind and decided he wouldn't live to see the tomorrow. Thank goodness he had no clue at all about the talk with Fujimura. Or if he did, he was keeping mum about it. Not that his silence would save him from his other crimes.

"Keep frowning like that, Rin, and Emiya's going to soil himself," Archer said. Rin could _hear_ him grinning.

She glanced at Emiya, who was standing a foot further from her than earlier. His shoulders stiffened at her attention. The sight only made her frown deepen, and she jerked her eyes forward. A group of children, looking at her fearfully, crossed the road to walk on the other side.

She wondered if Servants' blood left stains. If so, using a knife or a pillowcase full of bricks might need too much cleanup. Best to stick with smothering or strangling.

"It's dot fair!" Illyasviel glared in contempt at her own Servant, who stuffed what looked like one of those fancy schmancy mobile phones into his jacket. "Shirou was going to show be aroudd!"

Lancer turned toward Emiya, his expression pure business, "My apologies, Emiya Shirou, but I'm afraid my Master's tour must be saved for another day." He said all this very seriously, which was undermined by his childish Master kicking, tugging, and gnawing at various parts of his body. "Everyone is very worried about her cold."

"Ah, no need to apologize, Lancer-san," said Emiya, looking _very_ relieved. Frankly, Rin felt the same. "And Illya," Emiya went on, "I can show you around the school later, all right? It'll be much more fun if you're not sick, and your family is already very worried about you."

"They're not by—!" Illya huffed and puffed her cheeks at Emiya. "Fide. But I'b holdigg you to it. I'll defiditely kill you if you dod't follow through!" What a murderous little brat.

Emiya let out a chuckle that _almost_ sounded natural, but Rin could feel the nerves. "I promise."

That was enough for Illyasviel, apparently, because she boarded her Servant's shoulders once more, and the two of them dashed off to who knows where, although Illyasviel couldn't resist a final shout. "You'd better dot forget, Shirou!"

Two down, one to go. And the one was all Emiya's problem. 

By the time they reached Homurahara, Emiya still didn't know how to handle Saber. Or at least, he never mentioned one, and his face still had the look of brain-exploding concentration on it.

"Emiya!"

Rin gave a curious glance toward Ryuudou Issei, student council president, who approached Emiya with a shocked expression.

"Oh, hey, Issei," Emiya responded. It sounded casual, but anyone watching could see the resigned slump in his shoulders.

"Get ahold of yourself, Emiya!" Ryuudou grabbed Emiya's shoulders and gave Rin a glare. "You witch! You're behind this, aren't you? You and your—your _coven!"_

Rin rolled her eyes. Dealing with Ryuudou was such a pain. What a melodramatic tool. "Yes, of course, Ryuudou-kun. Matou-san, a foreigner, and I danced around naked in the forest for hours last night in order to make Emiya-kun slightly more lethargic in the morning."

"So, you finally show your true colors, Tohsaka."

Rin smacked her face.

Ryuudou pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Come with me, Emiya. I'll keep you safe from these... these... _women."_ With that oddly generic denigration of Rin's gender, Ryuudou took Emiya by the arm and marched off.

"Issei, what are you—?!" Emiya protested, but it was half-hearted, and soon Ryuudou had dragged him away to who-knows-where.

Honestly, how did a guy like Ryuudou manage to snag the student council president position?

"Ah, how vexing. Praetor's speech made that he was in peril, yet his countenance evidenced otherwise. Indeed, should this self have gone to his aid, or was it better judgment to hold as I have?" Saber turned to Rin with a serious expression in her green eyes. "Miss Rin! Advise me!"

"Definitely go after—"

_"Sakura!"_

"N-nii-san. Good morning."

Oh, no. Not this worm. "Matou-kun," Rin said coolly. Matou Shinji had a way of getting under her skin faster than anyone living or dead, and he made expert use of that ability by existing within ten meters of her. At just the sight of him, Sakura's shoulders hunched over, making Rin clench her fist.

"Tohsaka," he replied. It wasn't the smooth operator voice he usually put on when talking to her. In fact, he barely acknowledged her before shifting his hardened gaze back to Sakura. "Where the hell were you this morning?! You think you can just skip club when I ask you to come by?" He took an aggressive step forward.

Sakura flinched, and Rin shifted to meet Shinji. "Matou-kun, do you really plan to make a scene?"

"Tohsaka-senpai...."

"This is family business, Tohsaka. Butt out."

"Really?" Rin said, steeping her voice in incredulity. "It's fine if you do such things in private—" (It really wasn't, but imagine getting _that_ to stick in his head.) "—but even someone like _you_ has to draw the line at doing so in such a public place, don't you think?"

Shinji glared at her with contempt, but when he noticed the turning heads around them, he gave Rin a reluctant nod. "You make a good point. I'll let it slide just this once, but the next time you skip out on your responsibilities to me, Sakura...." He let the threat hang in the air before he stalked off.

"Um, Tohsaka-senpai." Sakura spoke up meekly once Shinji had gone. "If I hurry, I still have time to help out with the Archery Club. Everyone, I'm so sorry about Nii-san's rudeness. Please excuse me!"

Despite her misgivings, Rin let Sakura run off. Still, there was a jauntiness to her step that hadn't been there earlier.

Rin shook her head. "'Rude,' she says. More like revolting."

"I agree, Master. If any man ever deserved that label, it's him."

"Indeed. A truly contemptible lout. That Miss Sakura must call him 'brother'... I shudder at the thought. Ah, were Praetor here, surely, he could have made peace. Although Miss Rin made for a splendid mediator."

Rin stiffened. Right. Her.

Then she realized—Emiya was gone. Sakura was gone. And she was stuck with _her._

"Look on the bright side, Rin," said Archer, his voice grating in her skull. "At least you're not hungry."

Rin's stomach thankfully didn't rumble at Archer's obvious ploy, but she still looked resignedly at the bothersome blonde and sighed. "Come on," she said. "I suppose I can try to get you in as a guest today. Somehow."

Saber exclaimed an affirmative, and the two filed into the building with yet more heads turning in their direction.

Ooh, next time she saw Emiya, he was dead, alliance or no. That'd teach him to force her into being an impromptu tour guide-cum-babysitter. Well, he'd be dead, so he wouldn't learn the lesson during _this_ life. Maybe the next.

Archer on the other hand.... A smothering was too good for him. Not nearly enough pain.

Her stomach rumbled.

Yeah. Definitely not enough pain.

* * *

Rin was _very_ tempted to use some sort of magecraft to grab guest pass for Saber without a fuss. The disagreeable woman at the counter was moving too slowly for her tastes and seemed to have an intense distaste for Saber. Rin understood the distaste, she just wished it wasn't eating into _her_ time. It would be so easy. Just a single minor suggestion. Barely even a blip on the radar.

While she was thinking, Saber made her move and attempted to seduce the woman for a pass.

_Attempted._

That got the Servant booted out of the office, but Rin managed to convince the woman to just hand the pass over, though she couldn't shake the feeling that maybe she'd lost something precious in the bargain.

Thankfully she succeeded, and her triumphant reward was to find Saber standing in the hall, bouncing her weight from one foot to the other as though if she held still for longer than a second, the lack of adrenaline would shock her into brain death.

"Do you have to use the bathroom or something?"

"Nay! Praetor beseeched that I take the liberty of relieving myself before our departure, and I, being of clement mien, performed the act dutifully." She continued shuffling between each leg as she said this. "No, I merely quiver with anticipation! Long have I looked forward to exploring the treasured halls of Praetor's tutelage!"

Deciding not to point out that Saber had only been around since Saturday, Rin sighed. "Okay. Saber, listen up. I don't have enough time to figure out where that annoyance dragged your Master off to before class starts, so unfortunately, I'm stuck with you until I can hand you over to him. All I need is a tiny favor: don't cause trouble. Okay?"

"A favor, you say? Very well, I, in my imperial majesty, grant you this boon, Master of Archer! I shall not cause trouble, as you say. Indeed, trouble shall shriek at the sight of my presence, turn tail, and run like a yellow-bellied coward! Trouble shall die a swift and terrible death at the hands of my—mmph mm mph mmmph!"

When it was safe, Rin removed her hand from Saber's mouth. "This is exactly the sort of thing you're not supposed to be doing, okay?! Just—just try not to draw attention to yourself."

"Ah. I see. That might be impossible. I draw attention with my mere existence. However, I shall try."

Rin blew upward at her fringe in frustration. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

That was easier said than done. Her classmates—the ones she normally ignored save for polite hellos—were interested to learn about the pretty foreigner in a track suit. The boys especially couldn't keep their eyes off her chest. All the while, Saber basked in their attention, although thankfully she was being discreet with her answers.

Things got a little strange when Kuzuki showed up for homeroom. At the sight of him, Saber began bouncing up and down so fast she could jackhammer through the floor. Kuzuki narrowed his eyes at her from behind his glasses, but apparently decided to ignore her presence, because homeroom ended without incident.

"That man," whispered Saber in her ear after he had gone, "He has an unseeming strength." Her eyes were alit with a terrifying gleam of anticipation. "I shall know his skill."

Him? _Kuzuki?_ Admittedly he was a bit of an odd one, but other than his deathly gaze and his stiffed reservedness, he'd never shown signs of being anything more than a boring schoolteacher. "No fighting teachers!" Rin hissed. Saber looked disappointed at the rebuke, but didn't move, and even ceased her quivering, which was a relief.

The first two periods went by without much more than curious glances from each of her teachers. Third period...

Third period was a problem.

Third period was Gym class.

She snagged Saber's arm so she wouldn't join the boys as they filed out of the room. The other girls drew the blinds shut so that everyone could change.

Rin didn't change, which would have been difficult anyway as Saber was wearing her winter Gym clothes, and Rin would rather not run around in shorts and a t-shirt in 4°C weather. Unless she planned on stripping Saber in the middle of class, sitting out for the day was her only option. Not that she minded that one bit. She hated feeling gross the rest of the day after sweating it up in Gym.

Looking up, Rin pulled Saber's shirt back down over her scandalously skimpy bra and threw the jacket Saber had dumped on Rin's desk back at her. "Put that back on," she ordered.

"Mmm, I wish to avail myself of this bounty of flesh," Saber protested a little too loudly. "as is my imperial right!"

That got whispers starting among the girls, which Rin fought to ignore. "Your imperial right is mistaken—" you complete _idiot_ "—they're only changing for Gym—" you absolute _moron_ "—so just... just sit still, all right?"

"Miss Rin, I sense you find something irksome."

"Oh, really?" was Rin's strained reply. "Whatever would make you say that?" She smiled brightly as she spoke.

Saber actually shivered. "You ask a question, and yet I sense you seek no answer."

Rin leaned back in satisfaction at Saber's response. Oh, yes, the unnerved expression that flashed across her face was something to be treasured.

"Terrorizing Servants. You are truly a cold and heartless Master, Rin."

Rin jumped up at the sudden baritone whispering in her ear (figuratively). She'd almost forgotten about the jerk, and the reminder that he was around made her frown. "You'd better not be watching my classmates change, Archer," she replied in her own head. Half a week and she still found the sensation odd.

He chuckled. "I make no promises."

"Drown in your perversions and die."

She was still grumbling about perverted Heroic Spirits as her class assembled on the field. With a quick excuse to the Gym teacher, who honestly looked like she didn't give a flying—well anyway, a quick excuse later and she was sitting on the sidelines, watching her classmates take turns running sprints.

Well, her classmates and Saber.

...Maybe sitting out was a bad idea after all.

Saber looked like she was enjoying herself, which would have been fine for Rin if she weren't also _completely blowing all of the school's records out of the water._ So much for not drawing attention! Worse still, the rest of the class were absolutely unaware of the sheer disadvantage they were at. They weren't soaking in magical energy amplified by the universal belief in their heroic deeds. It was blatantly unfair.

"Argh!"

Rin turned toward the outrage but didn't move. Instead she sat back to watch the drama unfold.

"This outsider is making a mockery of the Track Team!" First was Makidera Kaede, an entertaining if sometimes annoying girl who, naturally, was on said Track Team. They weren't close, but Rin liked to think of her as a friend. "What's with people like her looking down on people who work hard at pushing their bodies to their limits?!"

"Um." Saegusa Yukika looked unsure. Although that was almost a permanent expression on her face, the girl was so meek. "She looks really happy just to be running. I don't think she's looking down on us."

"You serious, Yukicchi?" Makidera's face turned incredulous. "I mean, look at her!" She needlessly pointed at Saber, just as she finished another sprint. The Gym teacher's whistle fell from her lips, her eyes wide with shock as she stared at her stopwatch. "You agree don't you, Kane?!"

"Don't drag me into this." Finally, Himuro Kane completed the trio. Amazing how the reasonably level-headed Himuro and Saegusa could be such good friends with the... energetic girl that was Makidera. "You're the one complaining, so why don't _you_ do something about it?"

"Geez, aren't friends supposed to be, yanno, supportive?" Makidera ran a hand through her short hair. "Whatever!" She raised her voice. "Hey, you! Blondie!"

Rin's stomach lurched, but she remained a passive observer. Morbid curiosity, it seemed, was a strong, magnetic force.

"What-ho!" said Saber. "What do you implore of my majesty, fine sun-kissed beauty?"

"Uh, wha—?" Makidera blinked a few times before finding her bearings. "You! You think your... your... _charms_ 'll throw me off so easily? Heck no! I, the Black Panther of Homura, challenge you to a race!"

The self-proclaimed title made Rin snort. "Really?"

And she wasn't the only one chiming in. "Another cat? Isn't Tiger-sensei enough?" "Who the heck _challenges_ someone nowadays? This isn't an anime." "Does she expect people to call her that?"

Unperturbed by the declaration, Saber responded with the same amount of energy, "Then I, the Servant of the Sword, take up your gauntlet! How shall we compete?"

Rin's palm met her face. Seriously? Introducing herself as a Servant?

"Holy—she actually accepted?" "Is that sort of thing normal in America?" "Idiot! Just cause she's blonde doesn't make her American. She could be British!" "Somehow 'Servant of the Sword' is worse than 'Black Panther of Homura'." "... I think it's cool."

Makidera looked taken aback at the casual acceptance of her challenge, but she recovered quickly. "Three sprints. 100 meters, 200 meters, then 400 meters," she listed off. "Lowest total time is the winner. Understand?"

"It's not the hair, it's the boobs!" There was a beat of silence. "Uh, sorry. Don't mind me."

"Indeed! Shall we race at sundown, or perhaps do you wish to draw the curtain a fortnight hence, that we might train our bodies to perfection in the meantime?"

"What? No! We're doing right here, right now!" Makidera looked at the Gym teacher. "You ready, Coach?"

The teacher blinked slowly back at Makidera. "I didn't agree to—you know what? Fine. Whatever. I don't even care anymore. Let's get this over with."

 _That_ response caught Rin off guard, and it spun its own series of whispers as the two bull-headed nincompoops readied themselves on the track.

"First up, the 100-meter dash. On your marks! Get set! Go!"

Makidera didn't stand a chance. As expected. Saber passed the finish line so fast the teacher almost forgot to hit the timer when Makidera finished. "Eight point five seconds," the teacher said, looking at Saber in total awe. Which was understandable. Not only had she demolished Makidera, but apparently, she'd crushed the Olympic record, too, if Rin's classmates were to be believed.

Makidera looked incensed. "That... that was just a fluke! Fine! Let's see how you do with 200 meters!"

Saegusa tried to get her friend's attention. "Um, Maki-chan. Don't you think that—?"

"Gladly! The fire in my heart burns at the thought!"

Saegusa's expression turned distressed, but Himuro was already talking. "It's fine, Yukika. Maki will just have to deal with a bruised ego. Even with that thick skull of hers, she should've already realized she's in over her head."

"I know but...."

The 200 meters went exactly the same way. Makidera ate Saber's dust, and Saber broke another Olympic record.

"Is this for real?" "What kind of monster is she?" "Nobody's going to believe us, are they."

Thank goodness "it's magic" was so far down the list of possible explanations that nobody ever took it seriously. Rin _really_ didn't want to have to deal with covering up _this_ incident. The fake priest was unpleasant enough just in day-to-day interactions. The last time they'd taken such actions... Rin shuddered. Nope. Not going to think about it.

Then, finally, they ran the 400 meters, and Makidera was so thoroughly smoked the teacher didn't even bother timing her. Rin amused herself with the idea that if Makidera _had_ been timed properly, she might have actually set a personal best. Ah, if only.

Makidera, panting, stumbled over to where Saber posed, arms akimbo, in victory. "You... You'll..."

Whatever Saber was or would be, Makidera never revealed because Himuro and Saegusa dragged her away before she could finish.

Saber bounced toward Rin, looking unaffected by her super-human physical exertions. "Oh, frabjous day, Miss Rin! I was unmatched, was I not? I was unfathomable, was I not? Alas, were only Praetor here to observe my achievements!" which Rin thought was an odd term for bullying high school Track Team girls. "Perhaps I should demand a trophy of my victory that Praetor might have something to display for his visitors."

"No. Don't."

Gym class mercifully ended with no further incidents, although Makidera kept sending scathing glares from behind Saber's back, and Saber kept... being herself.

For fourth period they had Fujimura, who kept giving _Rin_ disapproving, worrying, or suspicious glances throughout the class period. On the other hand, she waved happily at Saber, who gave her a jubilant response in return. Other than that, fourth period was uneventful, which Rin hoped was a sign that the day had no more surprises up its sleeve.

After fourth period came time to murder Emiy—er, lunch time. She marched out of the classroom at the bell and stalked straight down the hall to class 2-C, dragging Saber along, who didn't even have time to protest or resist. She waited in the doorway, smiling her best "I'm definitely not going to flay you alive," smile.

Emiya didn't notice at first, until a worried-looking classmate poked his shoulder. The terror in his face spoke volumes. "T-Tohsaka!" he yelped.

"Hey, Emiya-kun," she said, her voice dripping saccharin. "We need to have a little chat."

He gulped and hesitated. Funny. She'd begun to think he had no sense of self-preservation. Then he walked over to her rigidly. From the expression on his face, you might think he was on his way to the gallows.

Well, that wasn't entirely wrong.

As soon as he was within arm's reach, Rin had already clawed into the fabric of his jacket, tugging him along with one hand while her other wrapped around Saber's wrist. As they walked Rin repeated the mantra to herself.

Must not murder him in public.

"T-Tohsaka, hold on a moment!"

Must not murder him in public.

"Praetor, with my pride I am loath to admit such, but Miss Rin's grip is of uncanny strength."

Must not murder him in public.

They swept up past the top floor and exited into the cool, relieving breeze of the school roof. The closest there was to a private place during lunchtime. Nobody went up here.

Rin basked in that breeze for a while, looking past the fence at the expanse of sky and earth in the distance. She breathed in deep through her nostrils and didn't say anything. A minute. Then another. More deep breaths.

Then after the long silence, she turned around.

A nervous sweat had broken out on Emiya's forehead, and he jumped at her sudden motion. "Er, Tohsaka. What did you want to talk about?"

"Emiya," she said, not even bothering with the honorifics. Still she plastered the sickeningly sweet smile on her face again. "Take back your goddamned Servant."

"Um—what?"

"I said. Take. Your _goddamn._ Servant. Okay?" Smile.

Emiya gulped, and for a long uncomfortable moment he looked too stunned to respond, and so it was great relief when he finally stammered out, "O-okay."

"Good," she said, drawing it out. She let him back down gently and let her iron grasp on his jacket loosen. "Good," she repeated. "I'm glad we had this chat. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to have a nice, calm, _quiet_ lunch. Alone. Ta!"

Then she sauntered down the stairs with a swing in her step. She still wanted to kill him, but she was too happy to be rid of Saber to care. She didn't even care that she'd dropped her façade in front of the first years giving her wide berth.

"Rin," Archer started. Rin prepared for the worst. "Sorry to disappoint, but Emiya still hasn't soiled himself at the sight of you."

"Ruin my appetite, Archer, and I will kick you in the balls so _stupidly_ hard it'll make your teenage self cry. Then maybe he'll think twice about becoming _you."_

For a moment, there was no response. Then, "That's perfect. I knew I could count on you, Master."

Rin rubbed her forehead. "No. I'm not even going to attempt to figure that one out."

* * *

The final class of the day came to an end, and Rin hated everything.

Bad enough that she hadn't brought any lunch with her, the shop had sold out of sandwiches _and_ rice balls, and even if she was desperate enough to try the stuff they cooked up in the lunch room, the line was so long people were overflowing into the halls.

Seriously, were they serving ambrosia in there?

All that meant that by the end of the day, Rin's stomach was threatening to eat itself in protest, and it was taking all of her willpower not to just _dash_ out of the room for the nearest convenience store. _But_ one must keep up appearances, so Rin oh-so-slowly packed her books and pencils and walked out at a sedate pace.

She saw Emiya in the hall—and he saw her. Saber was with him, and Rin fought down a cringe. Thankfully, he casually avoided meeting her eyes as he turned into the stairwell and headed down. Good.

She followed not quite exactly behind him, but he never really outpaced her either, so by the time they'd left the school, they were at the exact distance where if you decided to hold the door open for someone, they'd have to hurry up not to make you wait, and if you decided not to, it felt like slamming the door in their face.

Emiya, apparently, was the type to hold open the door. And Rin involuntarily quickened her pace. Which kind of pissed her off.

There was a gathering crowd lingering in the front yard near the entrance. As she pushed through, she heard whispers.

"Who is that little girl? Is she waiting for someone?"

"Is he a prince? He looks so pretty!"

"Her hair is so white! What a lovely color!"

"Is it just me who thinks he looks like a girl?"

She caught sight of the two targets of observation, and she really shouldn't have been surprised at who she found, but before she could stop herself, she had already yelped, "Illyasviel?!"

Illyasviel and her Servant loitered at the gate. Saber looked serene as always, but Illyasviel had a small but intense frown, but at her name she looked up and found Rin. "You! Where is he?!" Illyasviel stomped up toward Rin, and the crowd parted to make a path. "Where's Shirou?!" She still sounded congested.

Rin looked behind her, but Shirou had vanished. "No clue," she said. "Now if you'll excuse me...." She attempted to push past, but Illyasviel held her ground.

Illya grabbed at Rin's coat. "Tell be! Tell be where he i—- _AH-CHOOOOO!"_ And Rin felt the wetness of the mucus on her clothes.

"Eugh! Listen here you little br—" Rin paused, remembering the audience. "I'm going to get myself cleaned up." Ugh, she'd have to pick up some detergent too. She'd drained the last of it washing her clothes after Saturday.

"Hey, Blondie!"

Somehow Makidera's voice shouting over the crowd sent a shiver down Rin's spine. A bad omen.

"Hey! Blondie!" Makidera attempted to squeeze through to the front. "Augh! Get out of the way!" When she finally stumbled out of the throng, she caught her breath and pointed dramatically at Lancer. "You think you can just run away after you humiliated me? Screw that! I challenge you to a rematch!" 

Lancer pointed at himself in confusion and received a nod. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're—"

"Don't play dumb!" Then Makidera turned toward Rin, and it occurred to her that she really should have left while everyone was distracted. "Tohsaka, you know each other. Back me up here!"

"Don't even think of bringing me into this, Makidera."

"Um, Maki-chan, I don't think they're the same person." Saegusa popped her head out from the crowd, followed by Himuro.

"I agree with Yukika," Himuro added, her gaze locked onto Lancer's chest. "That's obviously a different person."

"Are you kidding me? This one looks exactly the same!"

Makidera could be forgiven for confusing them of course. Saber and Lancer had practically identical faces that you could only really tell apart when you compared them side by side. They even had the same hair, although Saber usually had her hair in a bun, and Lancer had a ponytail.

Still, it was hard to miss the biggest difference between them.

"Ah, I see," Lancer said, his voice calm and soothing. "You must have mistaken me for—"

"There's no mistake! I, the Flaming Black Panther, am challenging you to a rematch! Do you accept?!"

The crowd burst into whispers. "Wasn't she something else earlier?" "There's gotta be better names than 'Flaming Black Panther'." "That's definitely not the same person. No boobs!"

Lancer held his hands up. "I'm afraid I don't even know what—"

"He accepts!" Illyasviel's voice cut through Lancer's mild response. "No way _the legendary King Arthur_ would ever turn down a challenge from a loser like you!"

"Who are you calling a loser, you brat?!"

"Obviously I'm calling the one who lost so hard she needed a rematch to feel better about herself a loser!" Illyasviel laughed. "No way _King Arthur_ would ever lose to someone like that!"

"Okay, that King Arthur thing is really starting to confuse me." Makidera turned her ire toward Lancer instead. "We're racing from here to the big bridge. First one that crosses wins."

"Makidera, need I remind you that you're a sprinter? The bridge is several kilometers away." Himuro attempted to be the voice of reason for once, but Makidera just waved her off.

"It's no big deal. I've done longer runs."

_"When?"_

Makidera coughed into her fist. "Anyway, I'll give you half an hour to prepare, Blondie. Things won't turn out the same as last time."

"I don't—"

"You're going down!" Illyasviel jeered.

Before it could dissolve into an exchange of insults, Rin decided it was time to bail, so she snuck past Illyasviel, Lancer, and Makidera, and made a mad dash toward the convenience store around the corner to buy _something_ to eat.

"Rin." Archer's disembodied voice echoed in her ears while Rin tried to figure out if she wanted a chicken sandwich or a tomato sandwich. "I think one of us should stay behind and wat—keep an eye on the other Servants. Make sure there isn't any trouble. I volunteer myself."

"Just go." Idiot.

"I heard that."

The faint presence left her mind, and Rin ended up picking both sandwiches. Screw dinner. She was hungry _now._ Grabbing a stain-remover stick and a package of moist towelettes, she rang up her purchases at the register. It took some effort, but she was able to clean herself off pretty painlessly.

"She'd better not have gotten me sick, though."

With that task dispose of, she moved onto calming her stomach with a well-earned meal. She popped the chicken sandwich out of its plastic and munched on her lunch-cum-snack as she walked home in relative peace and quiet.

No Servants, no idiots, no problems.

At least for a little while. She gobbled up the rest of her sandwiches and stretched, watching the orange of the sunset fading in at the horizon. She couldn't remember the last time she was able to just relax. As long as she could remember, the Holy Grail War had hung over her head like her own Sword of Damocles. There was no time to waste—if she was caught unprepared, she'd lose, even _die._

She knew that better than anyone.

And yet, this war had been nothing like it she'd expected. Bumbling idiots, annoying brats, allies, rivals, friends? What were they to each other? And why the hell wasn't anyone actually fighting for the Grail?!

"Ah. Home, sweet home." She looked up at her own house. Not quite a mansion, but still much too big for only one person. The walk to school was maybe fifteen or twenty minutes at her normal pace, so the sun was only just hovering above the horizon, and everything cast long shadows eastward.

How bothersome that only a few houses down was where Sakura lived with the Matou, and yet a fence stood between them, intangible but impassable all the same. She could even see the Matou home peeking from behind the other houses.

"That's enough thinking about that."

Was it just her who liked to speak aloud when no one was around to hear? Maybe she just liked the sound of her own voice.

"It's good to have a break from things every now and then."

And it really was.

"Although I kind of regret missing out on the race."

It was just a race, after all. She hadn't been able to enjoy Saber's utter demolition of Makidera at the time, but looking back on it now with a less empty stomach and a reduced amount of stress....

"Yeah, looking back on it, it was kind of funny."

Oh, well.

With a last look at the sunset, Rin made for the door.

Then she heard it. It was faint at first, so she couldn't tell what. Then it got closer and louder and—

"Aaaaauuuuuuggggghhhhh!"

"TRULY THIS IS A CONTEST WORTHY OF MY EFFORTS!"

"FASTER, SHIROU! LANCER, STOP BEING A COWARD AND FIGHT!"

"I... CAN'T... TOO... TIRED...!"

"RRRRAAAAAAARGH!" 

This couldn't be happening.

Lancer shouldn't have been anywhere near here. The bridge was practically a straight path from the school—not even an idiot could get lost going straight. Illya was riding on Emiya's shoulders, and he'd collapsed onto the ground, unable to catch his breath with Illya bouncing in excitement. They would have been here chasing after Lancer. And obviously Saber had followed her Master.

But then _who the hell was the man running on all fours like a dog?!_ He had to be a Servant, right? "Archer! What the hell happened to 'making sure there isn't any trouble', huh?!"

"I apologize, Master. Saber drew the attention of a rabid dog and got lost during the chase."

"This isn't the time for jokes, Archer!"

"I agree, Rin, which is why—watch out!" Archer faded into view just in time to push Rin out of the way of a falling body. Saber's to be precise.

Saber rolled onto her feet and wiped some blood of her lip with her thumb. She hefted her sword, a longsword with undulating edges that couldn't decide if it wanted to be red or black and settled with a combination of both that reminded Rin of glowing coals in a fire. "At last! A chance to test my mettle! Defend yourself, foul beast!"

"Lancer, hurry up and beat him already!"

"As you say, Master!" Lancer hefted his weapon, a long slim spear, pure white and emitting a soft glow that seemed somehow... sad. "Here I come!"

"Wait! Saber!" Archer shouted, and Lancer froze mid stride.

"Don't call me Saber!" he shouted, but Archer ignored his protests. Instead he plucked the spear from Lancer's hands. "Wha—?!"

"I'll get rid of this for you." Then, before Lancer could react, Archer lifted two fingers to his lips and blew a loud clear whistle. "Hey, Lancer! _FETCH!"_

"What?" asked Lancer.

What? thought Rin.

Then he threw the spear.

Lancer looked on in wide-eyed shock as the dog man thing leapt into the air and caught it in his mouth, leaving a trail of slobber all over the shaft. "Rhongo—urk!"

"Okay, okay, time out. I understand calling mistaking Lancer for Saber, but how the hell does _that_ look anything like Lancer?!"

Archer ignored Rin and instead pulled a broadsword from the same place he pulled his other swords from. "Here," he said, shoving it into Lancer's hands. "Can't be Saber if you're not using a sword, right?"

"Says the guy calling himself Archer without using a bow," mumbled Rin.

"I am not Saber!" Notably, he didn't get rid of the sword. Rin was no expert, but Lancer even looked more comfortable with it in his hands than he had with the spear.

"Oho! You think yourself a swordsman?" Saber looked at her twin appraisingly then swung her overlarge sword. "Then let us see who of us shall land the finishing blow!"

The doglike Servant spat the spear into his waiting hand and loosed a howl before rushing toward the two Servants with a blinding speed a man like him shouldn't have had. He used the spear like he'd never held another weapon in his life, each blow coming more swiftly than the last, and each coming ever closer to hitting its mark before being battered away by one sword or the other.

The battle shifted when Lancer's sword shattered against the haft of his own spear, and he was forced to retreat to avoid getting skewered, leaving Saber to fend off the beast man alone—a task she met with her usual eager overenthusiasm. "Aha! Fall back, Lancer! It seems victory is mine!" She punctuated the statement by punting her beast-like opponent away.

Right next to Rin's house.

Oh, no.

"For the grand finale, my greatest work, unready still for watching eyes! Celebrate that you will be the first to see its glory!" Saber shouted, her lips curved into a smile. "Prepare yourself, Beast, and be moved!"

No no no no no no...

"Indeed! No play nor song became revered without rehearsal!" She brought her sword next to her thigh and began to swing it upward like a hand on a clock.

...no no no no no no....

"Dance of Terpsichore!" The sword began to glow. "Song of Euterpe!" It passed over her head and in a burst of fire. "Humor of Thalia!" The flames licking the blade grew hotter. "Ardor of Erato!" Finally, the sword reached her other thigh.

...no no no _no no no...._

"O Muses, Set us ablaze in fiery passion!" She lifted the flaming sword up so that the handle butted against her chest, and held it parallel to the ground, pointing at toward the other Servant, who had already recovered and coiled up to pounce.

... _no no NO NO NO NO...._

"Recensendum: Fax Caelestis!"

_"NO!"_

She thrust forward, and her sword left behind a trail of flames. Her opponent met her halfway—but it was impossible to tell what happened then, even as they shot past each other. Saber wobbled but stuck her sword in the ground to steady herself. "A splendid performance!" she said, holding up her arms to an imaginary crowd.

Then—with a deafening crack like thunder—everything exploded.

Rin instinctively crossed her arms over her face, but she still caught a faceful of dust that led to watering eyes and heaving coughs that made her lightheaded. When the dust (and her windpipe) finally cleared, she peered out from underneath mostly closed eyelids to survey the damage.

The beast man had caught fire and was rolling haphazardly in the dirt to try to put it out. Lancer had been too close and was picking himself off the ground, covered in bruises and small scratches. Shirou and Illya had been tossed around but seemed otherwise unharmed. Archer was nowhere to be seen.

And her house—

Saber, rather than looking at all apologetic, puffed with pride. "That was supposed to happen."

Nothing was left of the front of the house but rubble and splintered wood. What used to be a sitting room had been crushed under the weight of the floor above. The canopy bed in Rin's bedroom had flipped upside down before it landed in the kitchen. Her dresser had spilled her socks and underwear all over the dining room table. The refrigerator had dumped all of its contents into the downstairs shower.

"H-hey, Tohsaka...." Whatever idiotic thing Emiya wanted to say was lost to time by Illaysviel's sudden realization.

Illya stamped her foot. "Lancer! Enough wasting time! You've got a race to finish! If you lose...."

"R-right! I'm definitely not losing!" With those shaky words, Lancer vanished in a burst of speed.

"Oho! You think to take advantage of my diverted attentions and claim victory thus? I think not! Indeed, Praetor, I have revealed unto you my strength, now witness my swiftness!" Then Saber too was gone.

Illya leapt onto Emiya's shoulders and steadied herself on them as he attempted to stay balanced. "After them, Shirou!"

With a confused sound and a last look at Rin, Emiya complied, but since he _wasn't_ a spirit summoned from some vaunted age of heroes, he wasn't nearly fast enough for Illya, who kept jabbing her heels into his arms. "Ow! That hurts, Illya!"

"Faster, Shirou!"

Rin noted all of this passively, because her brain was still stuck on the notion that her house was practically demolished and completely unlivable.

The last of her "guests" whined pitifully on the ground as the last of his flames went out.

"Haaah, haah, hey! Cu!"

The new arrival caught Rin's attention. She wasn't Japanese, that was for sure. Her short hair was a deep burgundy, probably dyed, and she kept tugging at the hem of her short, skintight dress, as though it were possible for it to show less of her thighs.

"S-sorry," she said, trying to catch her breath. It took her a few seconds. "Sorry. Really out of shape. Anyway, this is my..." Her eyes darted left, right, up, down, _everywhere_ for a few tense moments. "...pet."

"Mm-hmm."

"I'm sorry if he caused any trouble...." She trailed off looking at the busted pipes spewing water like a demented water fountain. "He just keeps getting loose, you know?" She giggled so fakely that her pitch went up several octaves. "Guess that's what leashes are for, huh?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Anyway, _here!"_ She shoved a bottle into Rin's hands. "It's a sample of _FlowersByKenzo_ , _KENZO'_ s latest scent. For the trouble. Come on, Cu! Heel!"

With something that sounded like bizarre bark, the man bounded over to the unknown woman—the unknown _Master_ —because what else could this "Cu" be but a Servant? She scratched behind his ears unconsciously.

**_BRRRIIINNNGGGG!_ **

The sound made them all jump, and Cu in particular became very agitated. They turned their heads toward the source of the sound. The Tohsaka's only telephone.

With trepidation, Rin stepped through the rubble, to stare at the offending piece of technology.

**_BRRRIIINNNGGGG!_ **

It rang again, and Rin gingerly picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

A familiar and very loud voice crackled through. "Tohsaka! You'll never believe this!"

"...Makidera?"

"Yukicchi was right! That guy _was_ a different person. And a guy! Not only that, _he beat me in the race, too!_ I thought I was home clear, then _zoom_ straight out of nowhere, he just blazes past me! _And then the original Blondie showed up!_ And he says they aren't related. That's cold, disowning your own sister like that. But anyway—"

The receiver met the base of the phone so suddenly, the plastic cracked. She didn't have time for this. She could already hear the sirens in the distance, come to investigate the explosion.

"They took off," came Archer's voice from behind her. He leaned against the remainder of a brick wall. The other Master and her Servant had indeed gone. "You know, I'm disappointed, Rin. Emiya's rudeness must be rubbing off on you. You didn't even say goodbye." 

She threw the bottle of perfume at him.

He caught it with no apparent effort. "Look on the bright side," he said casually as Rin stomped toward him. "That woman, Taiga, already thinks you're staying at Emiya Shirou's house due to an issue with the pipes."

"Hey, Archer." She smiled as she said it. Nothing at all like her usual mask. This one was cracked and broken. Her eye twitched, her lips 

"Yes, Master?" If he knew what was coming, he gave no indication of it.

"Shut. The hell. Up."

Then with the power of ten hours of pent up frustration, her foot smashed into his crotch.

* * *

Next time on _The Emperor's New Clothes..._

"R-Rider! When I told you to run, I meant _to take me with you!"_

_The Gingerbread Man!_

See you then! ❤

* * *

Hey, there readers, old and new. This chapter has been a long time coming, so I finally took the last few weeks trying to jam this one out. It's a little rough. Didn't have time for much revision or beta, since I wanted to make this very special deadline. Again, shout outs to Sad Frog. Without you this chapter would probably never have come out.

Also, I know it's been over a year since the last chapter, but unfortunately this fic is always going to be a bit in the backburner for me. I've got too many ideas rolling around in my head to stick with just this one, I'm afraid. I _do_ have small synopses for each of the remaining twelve _(Twelve?! Oh god)_ chapters, but they're not very detailed at the moment.

Who knows, I might be motivated to update this one again sooner. I do feel a bit guilty just leaving it hanging for so long. And guilt can be a powerful motivator....

Thanks for sticking around! Hope you enjoyed the story!

Thanks again to Raiyoukai for constantly bugging me, but also for helping me bounce ideas around.

And for all of you who read, reviewed, liked, disliked, favorited, followed, shared, praised, bashed—a heartfelt thank you for giving this your attention and time. I really do appreciate it.

This is _andi,_ signing off.

Later!


End file.
